


A Mask of Your Own Face

by goldenmeme



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: And has turned into a 50k+ word love letter to him, Canon-typical Remus, Comedy with feels, Gen, Heavily Remus-Centric, Roman's technically the Bad Guy but he's not a bad guy, This started as an attempt to force myself to like Remus, all characters are sympathetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmeme/pseuds/goldenmeme
Summary: Roman and Remus trade places.
Comments: 288
Kudos: 263





	1. Who's the evil one now?

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains minor triggers for weight issues and body image, and use of the word cr*zy as an insult.
> 
> I strive to update every Sunday, but make no promises. 
> 
> Sincere thanks to my beta reader beauty-and-passion, as well as the Discord Joan Collective and parallelmonsoon for extensive cheer-leading and hand-holding.

“WHAT IS UP EVERY—ugh, _no_! Nope.”

Thomas paced a little circle in front of his couch, trying to breathe through his frustration. He’d already done over twenty takes of this video’s intro alone, and so far not a single one had been anywhere near good enough. He started with too much energy, or not enough, or his voice went weird in the middle, or he flubbed his own catchphrase that he’d said a million times in the past. He couldn’t get it _right_.

He normally didn’t have this much trouble with an intro. He normally didn’t have this much trouble with any part of a video.

And the worst part was that he’d shot this entire video once already the day before. At the time he’d felt like he was on a roll, never in better form, One-Take-Jakeing practically the entire way through. He was charming, he was hilarious, it felt like it was going to be the best video he’d ever made. And the few times he had goofed it was funny enough to edit into a great bloop for the endcard.

But then he sat down to review the footage.

Hard yikes.

What had felt like his usual enthusiasm came off as fake and over-acted. What had seemed like silly blooper material was him laughing stupidly to himself for no reason and felt like watching someone lose it because of an inside joke you aren’t in on. Even the camera angle, the same camera angle he’d been using since he started on YouTube that he knew was his best angle, just seemed to highlight the fact that his cheeks were getting a little fuller than he was comfortable with.

He normally tried really hard never to think in those terms: his weight fluctuated, it was normal, he was just as beautiful and deserving of love at any weight, and fat was neither a bad word or a bad thing to have.

But when he watched the footage back, all he could think was _fat, fat, fat_. Nobody would want to watch somebody that looked like that. He didn’t want anyone to see him like that.

He was still pacing around trying to psych himself up to try just one more take when, between one blink and the next, Janus appeared at the window where Patton normally stood.

He watched Thomas pace for a few moments before he drawled, “I’m sensing the introduction to this week’s dilemma. Is something the matter, Thomas?”

“No,” Thomas said immediately. “I’m amazing. I’m better than amazing. I mean, I’m Thomas _Freaking_ Sanders.”

Janus’s mouth twitched. Thomas felt the judgement in his _soul_. “Never refer to yourself that way again.”

“Yeah, no, I heard it as I was saying it. Never again. I’m not fat.”

Janus’s eyes narrowed.

Thomas said, “Um. Sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I’m just… in a weird mood.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Janus said. “Is it something you’d like to… talk about?”

The words sounded awkward from Janus’s mouth. Which was fair, because Thomas felt a little awkward considering it. He’d only just made peace with Janus barely a week prior, and still wasn’t sure exactly what it would mean, accepting Deceit as part of himself and letting him have a seat at the table.

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to shoot this video all day, but I just… haven’t been feeling it.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re about to launch into another Sander Sides video about your constant motivation problems. Half of your content is whining about how hard it is to make content. The fans are tired of it.”

“No,” Thomas said. “Also, rude. And _also_ also, untrue! My fans love all my content. Over six thousand people watched me not build a Lego castle for over an hour the other day. I could post a TikTok of me brushing my teeth and it would get two million views.”

Janus just blinked slowly at him, unimpressed.

Okay, well, that was a weird flex. And definitely not something he actually felt was worth bragging about. He consistently made a conscious effort not to rest on his laurels.

Embarrassed, he continued, “Anyway, motivation isn’t the issue. I’ve had some amazing ideas lately, but every time I go to make something it’s a disaster. I’ve had _so many_ great ideas but I _hate_ everything I make.”

“That sounds like a Roman problem.”

“No, I told you, my creativity is better than ever. This is… something else.”

“Did I say it was a creativity problem? Without provocation you assured me that you’re not overweight, then bragged about how many people tuned in to your livestream. Who does that sound like?”

“… The president?”

“Well. Yes. But also the imbecile you call an ego.”

“Hey now! Getting a seat at the table means no more insulting the other sides.”

Janus just ached an imperious eyebrow. “Roman represents more than just your creativity, and whatever _this_ is—” he gestured to encompass all of Thomas—“definitely falls within his wheelhouse. You’ll have to summon him. I doubt he would listen if I called; he’s probably still sulking over my presence, like a—” he paused to inspect his gloves— “mature adult, of whom I think very highly.”

“Okay, that’s a start, but we’re going to work on it.”

Thomas took a moment to focus extra hard on creative thoughts, and raised his hand toward the corner where Roman normally appeared.

The side that rose up was not Roman.

“ _Thomas_ , you don’t have to be so rough,” Remus said. He gave a lascivious little shiver. “But I love it when you are.”

“What,” Thomas said, and frantically waved his hand back down, trying to un-summon the side. “No, what, wrong Creativity, _wrong Creativity!_ ”

Unconcerned, Janus nodded toward Remus and said, “Remus. Awful to see you, as always.”

Remus made a kissy face at him.

Predictably, Thomas’s attempts to send Remus back to whatever purgatory he came from were not working. He tried a different tactic. “Sorry Remus. I didn’t mean to call you. I was looking for Roman. We’re just talking about boring stuff that doesn’t involve butts or anything soooo… you can go…”

Remus said, “That’s funny, because I could have sworn you were trying to summon your Creativity.” He spread his arms like Jesus at the last supper. “And here I am!”

“You know who I was trying to summon.”

Janus was eyeing Remus with a curious look in his eyes. “Something’s different.”

“I changed my codpiece. You were right, that’s why it was getting fuzzy.”

Janus’s gaze only got sharper. “No. Good, but no. Something else.”

Remus said, “Actually, you’re right, something else did change. I’ll give you three guesses, and if you get it wrong you have to stop deleting my dick pics before I get a chance to spend them to Virgil.”

Now that they’d mentioned it, The Duke _did_ look different. Thomas couldn’t quite put his finger on how exactly, except a vague impression that he’d bathed recently, or maybe washed his clothes. He definitely seemed… cleaner.

Realization slowly dawned in Janus’s eyes. “Remus. _What did you do_?”

Remus held up his hands, palms out in a laughably unrealistic pantomime of innocence. “ _I_ didn’t do anything! This was his idea, I just agreed to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, “I’m lost. What are you guys talking about?”

“Can I tell him?” Remus said. He was practically vibrating with excitement. It was terrifying. “I want to tell him.”

Janus waved benevolently.

Remus said, “Roman wanted to play a villain for a while, so we switched!”

“You,” Thomas said. “You… what… does that mean?”

“I’m the good twin now! Can’t you tell?” He raised his arms in the trademark pose that he and Roman both shared, then dropped it to preen at one of his poofy shoulder things. “I suppose we could have swapped color schemes, but symbolism that heavy-handed is more Roman’s thing. Besides, I like the green. Reminds me of bile. Do you think this means I have to shave my moustache?”

Thomas turned to Janus in desperation.

Janus said, “Well, I think reducing the twins to good and evil is toxic moral absolutism. But it does seem that Remus has taken over Roman’s role as your main source of creativity.”

“My main creativity is evil now? The _Duke_ is responsible for my livelihood? Oh my god, I’m going to lose everything. _Oh my god_ , this is why everything I’ve tried to make lately is hot trash!”

Remus said, “Um, I’m sorry, have you or have you not had more original ideas in the past week than in the entire six months before that combined?”

Thomas shut his mouth.

Oh.

Oh no.

Remus continued, “I have been giving you Willy Wonka levels of pure imagination since I took over. It’s your ego that isn’t letting you see the quality of the work you’ve been producing. And honestly, I’m so proud of him. He’s picking up the evil twin thing so fast! Hey, wouldn’t it be _hilarious_ if we find out we’re both better at the other’s job and we wasted twenty years cast in the wrong roles? Hah!”

Thomas didn’t think that would be funny at all. In fact, Thomas was having a minor crisis over that thought. He’d been so thrilled about the sudden tidal wave of inspiration he’d been experiencing, but what if it was _evil_ inspiration? What if every new video idea he’d had was problematic? Sure, he’d known some of it was kind of risky—new series and original concepts exploring more nuanced themes, instead of the safer, tried-and-true video topics that were basically guaranteed to get views—but none of it had seemed _harmful_. But what if it _was_ and he just couldn’t see it? What if it was all full of buttholes and gore and things too awful to imagine? What if he couldn’t even identify problematic content anymore because the Duke was controlling his perception?

“Oh hello Virgil!” Remus chirped.

“ _Uh,_ what are you doing here?” Virgil demanded. He spotted Janus. “What are _you_ doing here?” His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to glare at both of them simultaneously. “Thomas, what are you doing _alone with them?_ ”

Thomas threw his hands up in a desperate shrug. Of course Virgil had to pick now to show up, after being missing in action since he’d come out as a Dark Side. Thomas would love to have a conversation about that, but he suddenly had something way more alarming he had to deal with first.

Remus said, “Aw, isn’t this as sweet as strawberries in antifreeze? It’s like a family reunion for all the worst parts of Thomas!”

The jab clearly hit its mark, but Virgil immediately swiped back, “Shouldn’t you both be pushing people into the river Styx or something?”

Janus said, “Oh didn’t you hear? I’ve officially moved up in the world. Our magnanimous host has accepted me as an essential and positive part of himself.”

The look Virgil sent Thomas was equal parts horror and betrayal. “ _Seriously, man?_ ”

Thomas cringed. “ _Yeeah…_ You missed a pretty important episode, Bud.”

“Oh. My god. I can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Remus too?”

Thomas glanced at Remus, who just bounced on his toes and grinned back with too many teeth.

Thomas said, “Um. No? I don’t… think so?”

“You—” Virgil rubbed at his forehead like he was trying to force the furrow out of it. “You don’t… I am not equipped to handle this alone. _Guys,_ a little help up here?”

Logan and Patton both rose up, Patton popping up so close to Janus that he gave an awkward little giggle and had to step back. “Hey, it’s a full house tonight! Thomas, if you get any more self-aware, you’re going to need a bigger apartment.” He noticed Remus, and his smile dipped. “Wh… Where’s Roman?”

Janus said, “Roman has decided to step down from his position as Thomas’s dominant creative force. Remus has taken over his duties.”

Virgil said, “ _What?_ ”

Patton said, “Why?”

Logan said, “Interesting.”

Remus said, “Let’s be real though, Roman was never Thomas’s dominant anything because—” he broke into a nasal belt—“ _that boy is a boooottoooom!_ ”

Patton said, “Is Roman okay?”

Remus waved a dismissive hand. “Eh, probably. He barricaded himself in his castle and the only signs of life from it since have been ominous organ music so, you know. He’s keeping busy trying to learn a new instrument.”

Patton said, “Why would he do that? I know he was upset after what happened at the wedding, but I never thought he could be _this_ upset…”

Logan said, “It does seem like an extreme reaction. Remus, do you recall what exactly he said to you when he proposed this role reversal?”

Remus’s posture changed minutely, a subtle shift, but suddenly it somehow seemed like Roman was standing there in his brother’s clothes. He said in Roman’s overwrought voice, “I don’t know what’s right anymore. It seems like no matter what choice I make, it’s always the wrong one. Maybe it’s time I finally let you be the hero, Brother.” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in a move that might have been Remus overacting, but was equally likely to have been a sincere reproduction of Roman’s actions. His voice was soggy when he said, “I just don’t know if I can be one anymore.”

Remus dropped the act like a brick and smiled sunnily at all the stricken faces.

Patton said, “Is that how we made him feel?”

“Eh,” Remus said, “he was just being a drama llama. I think he really did it because he finally realized villains get better songs.”

Janus nodded. “That _was_ a major consideration before I decided to start my redemption arc.”

Thomas said, “I need to talk to him. If nothing else, I need to make sure he’s okay. If he won’t come here, I guess I’ll have to go to him.”

Janus said, “Thomas, you should be aware that if Roman and Remus traded roles, the Roman that exists now is not the Roman you know and love for some reason. If you try to confront him as he is now, you may not like who you meet.”

Thomas said, “What does that mean?”

Logan said, “If I may?” then waited for Janus’s nod to take over the exposition. “When your creativity split, there were certain parts that could be neither shared nor duplicated. Most notable was inhibition. This is largely the reason the Duke has always behaved so erratically: he lacked any ability to filter between his thoughts and actions. In seceding his position as your dominant creative force, Roman would have passed that unique trait to Remus.”

Remus said, “It’s like that meme about two people who share one braincell, but with crazy!”

“We don’t use that word,” Thomas said automatically.

The entire room seemed to cringe.

 _Shoot_ , he always forgot that telling Remus not to do something only guaranteed he’d do it more.

But Remus just gave a put-upon sigh and amended, “but with impulse control.”

… Huh.

“Okay… So... Now you have the impulse control. And Roman doesn’t?”

Janus said, “Shocking, I know, to think that he ever did.”

“Shush.”

Remus said, “Yeah, and if you thought he was a diva before, you should see him now.”

“Would an out-of-control Roman just be… you? Oh _god_ , are there two of you now? Wait, if you’re doing Roman’s job, does that mean Roman became my intrusive thoughts?”

“You think the Prince Formerly Known as an Artist would risk soiling his sash doing my job? Hah! He would faint the first time a little rotting brain matter splattered in his mouth.”

“Eugh,” Thomas said.

“Hey, just because I _can_ choose to censor myself now doesn’t mean I’m not still the landfill you dumped an entire lifetime of garbage into.”

Oof.

Thankfully, Logan saved Thomas from having to respond to that by saying, “Remus and Roman encompass different aspects of your creativity, Thomas. As such, their unchecked impulses manifest in you in different ways. With Remus it manifested in intrusive thoughts. With him better able to control his influence on you, you should find your intrusive thoughts to no longer be an issue.” He glanced at Remus, and reluctantly added, “Assuming the Duke chooses not to _intentionally_ cause them.”

Which, judging by the brash grin Remus turned on Logan, seemed like a big _If._

Logan continued, “Although I have yet to observe its effects under Roman, I could make an educated guess that his secondary function as your ego might cause his instability to manifest in issues of self-confidence.”

“What, I don’t have self-confidence issues,” Thomas said. “You’re just saying that because you’re jealous that I’m _awesome_ and you’re a boring nerd who might as well make sad trombone noises when you talk, for all that anyone listens to you.”

Thomas slapped a hand over his own mouth.

Logan cleared his throat. “I’d say that supports my hypothesis.”

“I am _so_ sorry Logan. I swear, I did not mean that _at all_.”

“It’s fine,” Logan said, except it really, really wasn’t. Thomas made a mental note to do something extra nice for Logan soon. “You are… _not yourself_ right now.”

“I don’t think I want to be whoever I am right now,” Thomas said. “I have to talk to Roman. I have to fix this. Remus said he’s in his castle. Is that like his room?”

Logan said, “The concept is functionally similar, but Creativity’s domain is a bit… further reaching than any of the rest of ours.”

Patton said, “Oh, are we going to the Creativity Kingdom? I love the Creativity Kingdom!”

Logan said, “Count me out.”

“Aw Logan, you have to come!”

“To the Imagination?” Logan said. “Absolutely not. You all can enjoy your adventure through magical make-believe land. I shall remain here, where there are shelves and books to put on them.”

Patton said, “But, what if we find Roman and he’s so lost to the darkness that the only way to bring him back is with a group hug from all of his loved ones? If you’re not there our hug won’t be nearly as powerful and we may never get him back.”

“That is a scenario from Steven Universe, Patton. Not a realistic solution to a problem.”

Thomas said, “This _is_ Roman we’re talking about. This is definitely going to be solved with either the power of love or a heroic sacrifice.”

Remus raised a finger and said, “Dibs on heroically sacrificing someone.”

Thomas ignored him. “I’d really like it if you’d come, Logan. He needs to know we’re _all_ there for him. I’m including you in that, Janus, I see you trying to sink out without me noticing.”

“Oh, I was just going to check that I hadn’t left the stove on,” Janus said.

Remus said, “Aw, this will be _fun!_ Like a family vacation, except I doubt Dad will be buying any of us our first prostitutes so we’ll have to pay for them ourselves.”

Thomas said, “Oh, uh, Remus, you don’t have to come…”

He’d tried to make it sound like he was letting Remus off the hook instead of trying to get rid of him. He had really not succeeded.

Remus smiled brightly. “Oh! I didn’t realize you all _wanted_ to get mauled by tigerboars, have your flesh melted by black lava and your bones repurposed into rustic DIY dragon-witch toothpicks. I’ll just stay behind and rummage through all your stuff while you’re gone. Have fun, toodles!”

“Wait!” Thomas shouted before Remus could fully sink out. “Are those all things that are likely to happen?”

Remus shrugged.

Logan said, “Without Creativity’s presence the Imagination is, to put it lightly, exceptionally unstable. Remus is the only one currently among us capable of guiding us safely through.”

Thomas squinted at Remus. “If you come with, are you going to guide us away from the dangerous things, or into them?”

“You have to admit, one of those sounds much more fun than the other. But fine, whatever, you have my word I’ll keep anything from hurting a single hair on your precious ass.”

He was clearly trying to gloss over the promise, but Thomas knew how seriously Roman took his word, and this had the same air of finality to it. Against all reason, he trusted Remus to keep his promise. He did _not_ trust Remus not to pull some kind of fae trickster-style circumventing of his promise.

“All of us?” Thomas said.

“Except Logan.”

“Including Logan.”

Logan said, “I would be _more than_ happy to stay behind.”

Remus said, “Alright, how’s this: I won’t feed Logan to a tigerboar if you just do one teeny tiny, itty bitty, teensy weensy, little favor for me.”

Thomas nearly refused on principle. Anything the Duke tried to leverage him into doing had to be a trap, and he did not negotiate with terrorists.

On the other hand… it couldn’t hurt to at least hear what Remus thought was worth bargaining for. Right?

He said, “What favor?”

“Order the bugs next time.”

It seemed like a nonsense request, but Thomas didn’t even have to think about what he meant. There was a bourgie Mexican restaurant his brother liked to drag the family to every time he was in town. The weirdest thing on their menu by far were tacos filled with fried crickets and mealworms. Thomas had never been anywhere near adventurous enough to order them, but he’d always been morbidly fascinated by the thought.

“That’s it?” Thomas said. He’d been expecting Remus to demand he play Russian Roulette or eat a Tide Pod or something. Bug tacos weren’t _that_ bad.

“I’ve been trying to get you to eat bugs since the first time you saw The Lion King. It’s a bucket list thing.”

“I… guess I could try it...” He wasn’t confident that faced with the reality of a plate full of bugs he’d be able to stomach actually eating any, but he was willing to give it a shot.

“Great!” Remus said. “Then I’d love to be your guide! To be your G-U-I-D-E to the other side.”

“Great, sort of,” Thomas said. “So, we’re going now? We’re all ready?”

Virgil said, “For the record, this sounds like actual torture and I’m with Logan on Team I Don’t Want To.”

“But you’ll do it for Roman,” Thomas insisted.

“Eugh,” Virgil said. At least it wasn’t a no.

With everyone begrudgingly on board, Thomas closed his eyes and thought creative thoughts.


	2. Bunnies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Nearly) everyone gets a buddy, they meet a bunny, and Roman is _GREAT_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough for the tremendous reception this has received! Every comment and kudo has been a blessing upon my soul. I really hope you all continue to enjoy, and like the direction it's going.
> 
> I strive to update every Sunday but make no promises.
> 
> Sincere thanks to my beta reader beauty-and-passion, as well as the Discord Joan Collective and parallelmonsoon for extensive cheerleading and hand-holding.
> 
> Chapter warnings in the butt notes.

When Thomas opened his eyes, there was grass beneath his feet and a gentle summer breeze ruffling his hair.

There was also a parking lot in front of him.

He looked around. “Is… this the park I film outdoor scenes in?”

“This part is just the gateway to the Imagination,” Remus said. “You can tell it’s Roman’s work because he barely even bothered to edit out the watermark. _That_ —” he pointed over Thomas’s shoulder—“is the Creativity Kingdom.”

Thomas turned.

It _was_ the park he filmed in. At least it started out that way. The familiar open field was still edged in the same line of trees, but instead of the usual residential streets beyond the tree line, it marked the start of a seemingly endless forest, rolling hills that stretched on so far they didn’t end as much as fade out beyond the bounds of what the human eye could see.

In the distance loomed two castles. One was a massive tower, made of dark, lichen-covered bricks and topped with a pointed steeple. It sat upon a bulging, rounded rock formation that made the tower look kind of like… well.

The other appeared to be an exact replica of Cinderella’s Castle from Disney World.

No need to ask which castle belonged to which Creativity, then.

Some trick of the perspective made it impossible to judge exactly how far away the castles were. Thomas could make out too many details of Roman’s castle for it to be too incredibly far away, but at the same time it seemed impossibly distant, beyond what should even be realistically visible, rising up over unfathomable miles of dense forest.

Thomas said, “Um, Guys? How long is this going to take? Because I still need to do laundry tonight.”

Remus said, “Need is a strong word. You could get at least two more days out of that underwear.”

Logan said, “Not to worry, Thomas, this is _your_ imagination. You’ll be able to come and go as you please without sacrificing progress. No need to neglect your real-life duties to play pretend with your imaginary friends.”

Thomas said, “Can’t I just imagine myself already at Roman’s castle?”

Janus said, “There are no shortcuts to self-discovery, Thomas,” and turned to follow Remus toward the tree line.

Thomas raised his voice to shout after him, “Thanks, that’s a really annoying answer!”

Thomas shot everyone else an exasperated glance before they all reluctantly started toward the forest.

On the way, Virgil drifted close enough to mutter to Thomas, “You’re _seriously_ going to trust those two?”

Thomas muttered back, “Do you know of any other way to get to Roman?”

Virgil just gave a dissatisfied grunt and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets.

From afar there wasn’t and obvious path into the forest, but as they got closer he noticed a gap in the tree line, though it still didn’t seem like a trail until they were nearly on top of it. As soon as they were there he couldn’t figure out how he hadn’t seen it from further away; it was a neat span of smooth-trod soil, wide enough for three people to comfortably walk abreast.

The trees were bigger than they’d looked from the outside, some with trunks as big around as a minivan and so tall it seemed like they were growing from the sky down. The world inside the forest was verdant green in every direction, low branches drooping under dense blankets of moss, the ground beyond their path thick with ferns and other leafy bush things that Thomas didn’t have names for. It took Thomas a few moments to realize that the spring in his step wasn’t metaphorical; the ground was covered in a layer of fallen cedar needles so thick and lush it was like walking on a gym mat.

Remus stayed a few paces ahead of the rest of the group, which was good because somehow Thomas still couldn’t see the trail they were on more than a few feet in front of Remus. Or, he realized when he glanced backward, more than a few yards behind their party. It was like the path only existed in the small patch of it they were on at any given time, although as hard as Thomas looked he couldn’t see it forming; it just wasn’t there until another step forward caused another shift in perspective, and plants that had seemed to be blocking the path instead shifted to reveal more trail.

Roman’s castle loomed large and insistent in front of them, visible on the distant horizon even through the thick forest.

As absurdly picturesque as the scenery was, Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Everything seemed fine, but no matter how many times he dismissed the niggling worry it kept popping back up: _something_ wasn’t right…

Virgil was straggling at the furthest edge of the disappearing path, hands in his hoodie pockets and hood up. Yup, there was his _something_. Thomas fell back until he was walking alongside him.

They walked side-by-side for a few paces. When Virgil didn’t volunteer anything, Thomas prodded, "You good, Bud?"

Virgil said, "Yeah..." 

"Okay," Thomas said. "Except that sounds like the voice you use when you aren’t good but you're trying to pretend you are."

Virgil shot him a dry look. "It's no big deal, I just... I usually try to avoid the Imagination. Most times I’ve been here I ended up getting lost. It’s cool though. I’ll be careful."

Actually, now that he mentioned it, Thomas _was_ kind of worried about any of them getting separated from the group and wandering off. He'd heard stories about hikers who lost sight of their group for half a second, or took a single step off the trail, and were never seen alive again. As much as he liked to think that all those people were now living happily in a mystical fairy land, he knew realistically that was probably not the case. Add to that the extra hazard of their magically disappearing trail, and Virgil seemed right to be worried.

Thomas said, "Maybe we need a buddy system."

Patton chimed in, "I'll be your buddy, Virgil!"

He held his hand out, fingers wiggling to entice Virgil to take hold. Virgil eyed it warily, hands still firmly in his pockets. His gaze darted toward Janus and Remus, who had paused to watch the exchange with identical smirks.

Virgil said, "Um..."

Patton caught the shared glances and said, “ _Oh!_ I mean, uh, holding hands is for… uncool people. And we all know you’re way too cool for wholesome displays of casual platonic affection that feel nice and don’t hurt anyone and only serve to make the world a better place. What was I thinking? Hah...”

Virgil looked like he wanted to die.

Patton continued, “But these woods are so scary, _to me_ —” he threw Virgil an over-exaggerated wink, in plain view of everyone else—"and _I_ would feel a lot better if I had a strong, brave, ultra-cool buddy to hold onto. Is this okay?” He hooked his hand around Virgil’s elbow, so Virgil didn’t even have to take his hand out of his pockets.

Virgil said, “I… _guess_ …” He still looked mortified, but the expression warred with one of relief.

Thomas said, “Logan, be my buddy?”

Logan said, “I suppose it is an effective way to ensure we aren’t separated,” and took Thomas’s offered hand.

Remus grinned ecstatically at Janus.

“No,” Janus said, and walked on ahead.

It would have been much more impactful if he didn’t immediately trip on a shrub without the trail that apparently blazed itself only for Remus.

Remus laughed as he scurried to catch up with Janus, and they all resumed walking, two by two, with their new buddies.

The forest was about as picturesque as a forest could be, with a constant soundtrack of breeze through branches and all manner of birdsong. Thomas hadn’t spotted any animals yet, but they had to be there; the day was full of chirps and chitters, and occasionally a bush or tree branch nearby would shudder like something had just run across it.

He was still feeling crummy about what he’d said earlier, and sharing knowledge was basically Logan’s love language, so as soon as the question occurred to him, Thomas said, “Logan, what kind of animals live in this forest?”

“I’m afraid I’m not privy to the goings on of the Imagination,” Logan said. “This place falls quite decidedly under Creativity’s purview. Although I can say that I’ve already noticed several examples of flora that appear to be directly inspired by real world vegetation, so one might assume the fauna would be similarly inspired. The terrain seems to be primarily based on old growth redwood forests, which can be home to many species of weasel, squirrel, elk—”

“ _Bunny!_ ” Patton squealed.

“No—”

Patton wasn’t listening, already rushing off the path, toward a large fallen tree and the bunny grazing next to it.

Well, calling it a bunny was not entirely accurate. It was about the size of a bulldog and had yard-long, forked horns curving over its floppy ears.

Patton reached a hand out to it and cooed, “ _Hiiiiii_ Mr. Bun. Can I— _OW!_ ”

The rabbit snapped with a mouth that seemed wider than possible, over-filled with jagged teeth that pointed in every direction. Patton clutched his injured hand to his chest, scrambled backward and tripped into a thick clump of ferns, but the rabbit lopped after him, snarling and gnashing its toothy maw.

Remus scooped up the rabbit like he was plucking a discarded jacket from the ground instead of a rabid bundle of fluffy terror.

Thomas rushed over to help Patton out of the clump of ferns. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, sure,” Patton said, waving his once again unharmed hand, though he looked a little shaken. There was a fern frond in his hair, which Thomas plucked out for him. “Imaginary, you know.”

Remus was clutching the rabbit monster thing under its armpits so it hung against his chest, legs dangly freely, like a child hugging a stuffed toy. It kicked and gnashed and shrieked like a velociraptor, but Remus just rocked his hips back and forth, oblivious to the furious storm of fuzz and pointy bits raging inches from his face.

“I made these!” he said.

He was beaming at Thomas so proudly that Thomas felt obligated to say, “Wo-ow… It’s…”

He had no idea how to finish that thought. Would Remus be flattered if he called it terrifying? Did he want to flatter Remus?

Logan supplied, “It’s a Jackalope, correct?”

“Jack-ass-alope actually.” Remus said. His voice went high and syrupy when he addressed the writhing, seething rabbit thing. “Because you’re a little jackass bastard, aren’t you? You’re going to destroy the local ecosystem, aren’t you? My stinky vermin baby. Who’s an invasive species? _Who’s an invasive species?_ ”

He set the rabbit down carefully and cooed, “ _Fuck off_ ,” in the same gentle tone most would say ‘ _shoo_.’ The jackassalope snapped at him one last time before it hopped away into the underbrush.

Logan said, “Why would you introduce an invasive species into your own land?”

“To fuck with Roman,” Remus said, like the answer should be obvious.

The path had reformed itself around them while they were distracted, so now it led directly across the large fallen tree the rabbit had been taking cover near. Remus hopped onto the log and offered a hand down to Logan.

It wasn’t an enormous step up, but it was enough of one to make a helping hand useful. Logan took it, and Remus helped him over before turning back to offer his hand to the next side. Janus allowed it with a tremendous air of dignity, while Virgil circled out of reach and made the step himself, without assistance, glaring disdainfully at Remus the whole way. There was no scenario in which Patton could refuse an earnest offer of help, but he took Remus’s hand like he thought it might turn into a spider at any moment, letting out a high titter that bordered on hysteria as he stepped over the log. Thomas accepted the help with a tight smile, although inside he felt like Patton had behaved.

“But,” Logan said when everyone was on the other side and back on route, “it’s harmful to your home too. You share the Imagination.”

Remus wrinkled his nose. “Do we though?”

“You… should. Do you not?”

“Does any part of this picturesque fairy tale forest look like something that would come from me?”

“Well,” Logan said, looking around.

“Driver gets to choose the music, and until now, Roman’s been in the driver’s seat.”

“I’d assumed he would share creative control, to optimize the creative process.”

“Roman wouldn’t share an infectious disease with me,” Remus said. “Janus isn’t the only one that’s been keeping me repressed all these years!” He blew a saucy kiss toward Janus, who tapped the brim of his hat in acknowledgment.

"I… see,” Logan said. “That is… unfortunate. Are you at least enjoying your new role?"

"The creative control? _Fuck_ yes. _Finally_ , my ideas are actually getting through to Thomas and I can create something with more impact than a fart in the night. The other stuff? _Meh_."

Thomas said, "What other stuff?"

"This inhibition bullshit," Remus said. " Suddenly I’ve got this voice in my head constantly telling me _not_ to do things. I mean it from the bottom of my putrid heart when I say: _fuck that_. I don't know how you guys go around just not doing things all the time. It’s stifling. It’s _boring!_ It’s like trying to drag race with the parking brake on.”

Thomas had kind of assumed Remus would be happy to have control over his actions for once. Anyone would, right? Thomas didn’t even lack inhibitions and he _still_ wished he had more self-control most of the time.

Then again, this was Remus he was dealing with.

Thomas said, “I guess I never really thought about inhibitions like that.”

Remus mused, “You know, until now I honestly thought the reason Roman’s so dull is because he’s a moron without a single thought in his head. But turns out it was because he could have thoughts he didn’t act on. Also probably the moron thing too though.”

“ _I heard that_ ,” Roman’s voice rang through the trees.

“ _Roman!_ ” Thomas cried. _Oh_ , what a relief to hear his voice.

He sounded close. Thomas scanned the forest, but he couldn’t spot the familiar white and red outfit among all the green. Everyone else was looking, too, except Remus, who had materialized his morningstar and was eyeing a nearby copse of saplings with suspicion.

" _Greetings, Peasants,_ " Roman’s voice said. Thomas couldn’t pinpoint which direction it was coming from. “ _Can’t talk long, I’m very busy with other much more important things, but I wanted to send word to say that this quest you’re on to rescue me like an **exceptionally** masculine damsel is futile, and you should_—”

Remus swung at a tree branch. He must have hit something, because Roman’s words cut off and a nearby pile of ferns rustled with the impact of something small crashing into it with great force.

Remus bent down to fish around in the fern, and came up holding something roly-poly and roughly the size of a tennis ball.

It was a cartoon bluebird. An actual cartoon in Remus's hand, like something out of _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_ , complete with asterisks and hashtags swirling around its head to show it was dazed from the blow. It was adorably chubby and glaring, primary blue.

The little bird opened its beak and Roman's voice came out. " _What the heck, Ratstink! This is **my** minion. How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my stuff?_"

"Roman?" Patton said, staring wide-eyed at the bird. They'd all gathered around so they formed a loose circle around the bird in Remus's hand. "Is that you? Are you a bird now?"

Remus said, “The bird is an emissary, Moral Oral. He’s talking through it. Like a walkie-talkie but with consent issues. Roman has an entire cartoon woodland creature army; he’s probably been using his chipmunk spies to watch us since we got here.”

The bird said, “ _First of all, how dare you accuse me of such unscrupulous behavior, and second, they are squirrel spies and you know it_.”

Patton said, "Roman, are you okay?"

" _I'm_ _great, Patton_ ," Roman said. " _Amazing. Somehow even more handsome than you remember, if you can even picture that. Honestly, I've never been better. Not that **any of you care**_ , _considering you_ **_immediately replaced me_** _with my_ **_brother!_** "

Logan said, "You are the one who appointed Remus to the position you abandoned.”

Roman said, " _Oh! Hey, Logan? **Fuck you**._" He let out an ecstatic groan. " _By Maleficent’s horned headdress, do you have any idea how long I have wanted to say that? You’re the actual worst and if I ever found a genie my three wishes would be to be Lin-Manuel Miranda, to marry Lin-Manuel Miranda, and to permanently sew your stupid mouth shut. You know, guys, this not having a filter thing is honestly so freeing. Five stars, would recommend_."

Remus pointed at the bird like he wanted to be sure everyone heard Roman backing up his anti-inhibitions stance.

Patton said, "This isn't you talking, Roman."

Logan said, "Yes, we already established that Roman is speaking _through_ the bird."

“No, I mean, our Roman would never say that kind of thing. Roman, we know that you’re not yourself right now and I want to make sure you know we still love you, we always will, and we would never blame you for anything you do or say when you’re like this.”

Roman said, _"Cool. Real quick, I want to circle back around to what **I** was saying before you guys went off on one of your unimportant side conversations that I never listen to. So we covered Logan, let's see... Virgil? You're a little bitch. Remus, fuck you, you crazy fuck. I know we ‘_don’t use that word _’, Thomas, but you know what? Sometimes you have to call them like you see them, and them’s a fucking nutcase. Deceit, **oh my god** , fuck you especially. If I could physically pull you out of Thomas’s head, I’d stick a crochet hook up his nose to- **day**. And Patton!” _

Patton flinched like his name alone was a physical blow.

Roman said, _"I thought you loved me. That’s supposed to be your thing, isn’t it? Love? Friendship? **Loyalty?** But I guess you **suck at it** , because the second the Python of the Opera slithered back into our lives you couldn’t wait to choose him over me, could you?”_

Patton’s eyes had gone huge and shell-shocked. For all his talk about already forgiving Roman, he seemed to be the only side there genuinely taking Roman’s words to heart. Thomas held out a hand, which Patton immediately took with the one not already holding Virgil’s. Thomas gave it a couple comforting squeezes.

He was starting to see what Janus had meant about not liking this version of Roman.

Thomas said, “No one chose anyone over anyone, Roman. It’s not a contest. If you’d come talk to us in person, we could work all this out.”

“ _Nay!_ ” cried Roman. “ _Nay I say!_ _You won’t talk your way back into my good graces, Thomas! You made your choice! It’s too little, too late, too lonely! I mean, not lonely. Hah. I don’t know why I said that. I have tons of friends here in this empty castle full of my adoring fans. I don’t need you! Why, I wouldn’t even forgive you if you **did** continue your epic quest to prove the unfathomable depths of your devotion to me! Even if you traversed this entire kingdom just for the honor of falling at my feet and begging my forgiveness! Even if you lavished me with gifts! Maybe those truffles I like. You know, those ones, from that place, with the gold leaf on top? It definitely wouldn’t work but I’m just saying if you wanted to try anyway just in case it does, I wouldn’t be able to stop you._”

Thomas had to work _very_ hard to hold in the frustrated sigh that was pushing against the back of his throat. “Roman—"

“ _I haven’t figured out how to mic drop a bluebird yet, but you should know that I’m hanging up now.”_ He belted, _“Prince **ooooouuuuuuuuuuuuut**!”_

The bird twitched, looked around, and let out a tweet that sounded like a confused flute.

Remus said, “Can I kill it?”

Thomas raked his hair back and finally let out the sigh he’d been holding in. “No. Just let it go.”

Remus begrudgingly opened his hand and watched as it flitted away. “They bleed paint. I think it’s paint. Tasted like paint.”

Thomas raked his hair out of his eyes and let out a gust of breath. “ _Wow_. I need _so_ _much_ therapy.”

Janus put a comforting hand on his shoulder, nodding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Use of the word _crazy_ as a slur, Roman just generally being a jerk, but like... a lovable jerk.


	3. Thomas's fake mom is a hoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They run into someone Thomas knows. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!** This chapter contains major homophobic elements that may be triggering. See end notes for more in-depth details. (Warning contains spoilers for the chapter.) 
> 
> Seriously, if you're at all on the fence, check the warning. Dead dove do not eat.
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful betas, beauty-and-passion, parallelmonsoon, and alicat54c. This chapter was a beast and you all saved me from giving up on the entire thing. Also special thanks to the Discord Joan Collective for being a cool place full of cool dudes.

As they all watched the little bluebird disappear among the trees, Logan said, "Well, that's a relief."

Thomas said, "How was any part of that possibly a relief?"

Logan seemed confused that Thomas would even have to ask. "Roman confirmed that he stands behind his decision and any attempt to change his mind will prove futile. We can save ourselves the time, skip this ridiculous scenario, and go home now."

Oh. Jeeze. "That's not what Roman meant."

Logan frowned. "He was very clear."

Patton said, "It was a cry for help, Logan."

Virgil said," This entire thing is one big, over-dramatic cry for help."

Remus snorted and turned to continue on ahead, Janus following at his side.

Logan seemed to think they were the ones being dense. "No. You offered help. He adamantly refused."

Thomas barely resisted the urge to groan in frustration. "Just—trust us, okay? Roman didn't mean any of that. _Any_ of it." He briefly met the eyes of each remaining Side to make sure that point was heard. "Okay? We're still doing this."

Thomas didn't want to lose Remus and Janus, so he grabbed Logan's hand and tugged him along despite his protests of, "But he _said_ —"

Virgil said, "Think of it like a riddle, L. He said one thing but meant something else. Find the clues in what he said and figure out the secret meaning."

Logan's eyes lost focus immediately, instantly consumed by a new puzzle.

Thomas mouthed a silent, " _Thank you_ ," toward Virgil, who just half-smiled and threw him back a peace sign with the hand not holding Patton's

.

The forest seemed to get denser as they walked, but the trail Remus blazed for them remained largely smooth besides the odd overgrown root they had to hop over or low-hanging branch that Remus held aside as they passed with the regal air of a gentleman holding a door for a lady. 

Thomas kept an eye out for more of Roman's cartoon animals as they walked, and managed to catch glimpses of a few—a bushy, animated tail disappearing around the far side of a tree trunk, a stark black-and-white skunk peering at them from inside the decomposed center of a tree stump. As garish as they looked against the backdrop of real life (well, imaginary real life) it seemed weird that he hadn't spotted any of them before, but they blended into the surroundings surprisingly well for primary colored, cartoon critters.

He spotted a few more of Remus’s bunny monsters, too, though mostly only pairs and in the middle of an activity that _of course_ something Remus created would do a lot of.

Even when the trees got so dense they were surrounded by impenetrable green as far as the eye could see on every other side, Roman's castle still loomed unobstructed in front of them, incessant yet unfathomably distant. Thomas hoped Roman was okay up there. He hoped Roman would stay okay until they got there, but it was hard to tell what kind of progress they were making. The castle didn't seem to be getting any closer.

Something about the imagination, maybe, made it almost impossible to tell how much time was passing. It was like the amnesia that occurs when driving a familiar route home, when you arrive at your driveway with no memory of getting yourself there. Except this was happening constantly; he kept realizing he had no idea how long they’d been walking, and then realizing he had no idea how long ago he’d had that realization.

Which was to say, he couldn’t tell how long they’d been walking when a familiar and unexpected voice called, “Thomas?”

Everyone paused.

Remus said, “ _Ruh-roh_ ,” quietly but with feeling.

"Thomas, is that you?"

Patton gasped, "Mrs. Sanders?"

"Is my _mom_ here?" Thomas said, looking around the forest, trying to spot the familiar figure that belonged to that voice. "How is my mom here? _Mom?_ "

The voice continued, “Here, honey! _Whoop!_ Hah, guess I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

He finally spotted her, maybe forty yards to their left, in her typical mom khakis and a blue plaid button-up. She was picking a cautious path through the uneven terrain. Between the overgrowth and her bad knee, she wobbled precariously with every step. Thomas moved to go assist her, but Logan was holding his hand too tight, keeping him from stepping off the path.

“Logan, let go, I have to help Mom.”

Behind them, Patton struggled even harder against Virgil’s hold on him, reaching toward her with a frantically waving hand like he might be able to bridge the dozens of yards between them if he just stretched a little more, saying, “ _Mrs. Sanders!_ Hi! Hi Mrs. Sanders!”

Remus said, “We’re in your head, Inside Out-and-Proud, you think your mommy’s going to pop in to say hello and bring you snacks? She’s not your mom. But she _is_ a hoe.”

Thomas said, “What the _heck_ , Remus!” He’d normally use stronger language, but he wasn’t about to swear in front of his mom. “Don’t talk about my mom like that!” Even _Remus_ should know better.

“Again, not your mom,” Remus said. “Come on, she’s moving slower than a zombie crotch-deep in tapioca. If we keep moving, we can still ditch her at a slow meander.”

“What? No. We’re not going to _ditch_ my mom.”

Thankfully she was still far enough away that she probably hadn’t heard the exchange, getting closer slowly but surely, the terrain clearly not doing her bad knee any favors. “Oo-hoo! Thomas! Wait for me, honey, I’m a-comin’!”

Thomas said, “We’re waiting, Mom! I’d come help you, but _Logan won’t let me_.”

Logan met Thomas’s glare with haughty confusion. “That is _obviously_ not the real Ruth Sanders, Thomas.” To Remus, he said, “Is it dangerous?

Remus said, “Dangerous? No. A pain in my delicious ass? _Definitely_.”

Virgil was still struggling to hold onto Patton, but it was like trying to hold onto a squirmy puppy, all wriggling and blind, unbridled enthusiasm. Virgil snapped, “Aren’t you supposed to _take care of_ these things, Remus?”

Remus said, “Look, I’ve been doing both my job _and_ Roman’s, so housekeeping hasn’t exactly been my top priority lately. The garbage has been piling up.” Something about the tilt of his head seemed to indicate that Thomas’s mom was the garbage he was talking about. “I’ll take care of her now if—”

“ _No!_ ” Janus and Virgil barked in unison.

“That’s what I thought,” Remus said. He circled around to try to corral them from behind, saying, “So, let’s just run from our problems and never look back!”

Virgil let out a sharp hiss when Remus’s herding got too close. Remus continued to shoo at him, undeterred, and the hiss dropped into a growl that Thomas had never heard come out of Virgil before; something thrumming and infrasonic, that made Thomas’s entire body rumble like he was standing too close to concert speakers.

The distraction was enough that Patton managed to slip out of Virgil’s hold to make a bee-line for Thomas’s mom, scampering through the undergrowth until he reached her side. He offered a steadying elbow, which she took as he babbled, “Hi Mrs. Sanders, it’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Patton! I’m your son’s morality, and can I just say, you’ve been _such_ an inspiration to me. I just, I’m your biggest fan, I—oh, gosh, I can’t believe you’re actually _here_ —”

Thomas’s mom cut into Patton’s star-struck babbling to say, bemused, “My, you’re a friendly one, aren’t you?”

“I _am!_ ” Patton said, elated that she’d noticed.

Meanwhile, Virgil was glaring hot death at Remus, furious that Patton had given him the slip and apparently three hundred percent ready to blame the Duke for it. Remus seemed oblivious. He’d conjured a bucket of popcorn and was leaning against a large tree, crunching unpopped kernels between his teeth. Janus settled next to him. When Remus tilted the bucket his way, Janus politely declined.

Logan said, “What is it?”

Remus said, “A figment. The thing Thomas talks to when he imagines conversations with his mom.”

Logan’s hand twitched in Thomas’s. “A figment of Roman’s imagination, or yours?”

Remus pointed at himself with a jaunty click of his tongue.

Thomas was only half paying attention, because Patton and his mom were close enough that Thomas shook off Logan’s hold and launched himself into her arms with a gleeful, “Hi Mom!”

She chuckled, hugging back. “Hi honey.”

He hadn’t seen her in over two weeks, which was an incredibly long time for them to be apart. His parents lived close enough that he usually popped in every few days, but he’d been busy lately and time had gotten away from him. It was so nice to see her again. It was so nice to hug her again! There wasn’t anything in the world quite like a Mom Hug.

Part of him—a part he was currently finding weirdly difficult to hold onto—knew she wasn’t _really_ his mom, but her arms wrapped around him just as firm as ever. Maybe she wasn’t his mom, but she _felt_ like his mom, and smelled like his mom, and before she pulled away completely she gave his shoulder an extra little parting squeeze, just like his mom had always done.

She brushed the bangs off his forehead, fussing, “Every time I see you, you need a haircut. I swear, your barber must leave it too long on purpose so you have to see him more often.”

“I like my hair this length, Mom,” Thomas told her for about the millionth time.

“Well. I suppose it’s better than the purple.”

“I liked the purple too!”

“I know, honey, I just think it made you look kind of… you know…”

“Dashing?” Thomas suggested.

“Colorful!” Patton said.

“ _You know_ ,” she whispered, and surreptitiously limpened her wrist.

Thomas’s smile dimmed.

Patton let out a confused little, “Wha…”

No, he had to be misinterpreting the gesture. There was no way his mom had meant what that looked like.

Logan said, “Thomas, we really should keep moving.”

“Oh! Yeah! Mom, we’re on our way to Roman’s castle to save him from himself! Do you want to come? I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

Logan said, “Apologies, I should have been clearer. We should keep moving and leave the Ruth figment here.”

Thomas gave a confused chuckle. “W-hat? No.”

His mom said, “Trying to get rid of me already, huh?” There was just enough of a tilt to her lips that he couldn’t tell if she was playfully ribbing him or was trying to cover genuine hurt with levity.

“Of course not, Mom! I want you to come.”

“Apparently not all of you does,” she said, gaze flicking pointedly toward Logan.

“Oh—that’s just how Logan is.” Thomas caught Logan’s eyes and tried to convey a demand for an apology through facial expression alone. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Logan said, “Why would I say something with no meaning? I meant exactly what I said.”

Patton scolded, “ _Logan!_ ” as Thomas’s mom barked out a laugh, high and hurt and disbelieving.

Logan just continued, “That is not your mother, Thomas. It is one of the Duke’s creations, and I think we should heed his advice to pay it no mind and continue on our way.”

Remus bapped Janus in the side repeatedly, shout-whispering, “Janus! _Janus!_ Logic thinks they should heed my advice!”

Janus said, “Because your advice is sound, for once.”

Thomas’s mom rounded on him, betrayal in her eyes. “Exactly how many parts of you want to abandon me alone in the woods, Thomas?”

“Uh—none of me!”

Patton said, “Thomas would never do that to you, Mr. Sanders.”

“You know that, Mom.”

She said, “I thought I did.”

Thomas had no idea how to respond to that. His mom had to know he would never leave her. She _had to_. What did it say about him if his own mother thought he was capable of that kind of thing?

She continued, “Honestly, sometimes it’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore, Thomas. You used to be such a good boy.”

Patton sounded lost when he said, “Thomas is still a good boy…”

“He could be. It’s not too late to turn your life around, honey. You just have to find the right girl.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Thomas said.

Logan twined his fingers with Thomas’s again, pulling his attention away. He said, “Thomas, I know it’s easy to forget that the versions of your loved ones you have in your mind aren’t genuine reflections of who they truly are, but you need to remember that this is not the real Ruth. The real Ruth loves you for who you are.”

“I _do_ love you,” his mom said, “and I’ve tried to be patient and wait for this phase to pass, but enough is enough. I just can’t stay silent any longer. This lifestyle you’ve been living goes against God.”

In a small voice, Patton said, “No, but, no it doesn’t…”

Thomas, still desperate to somehow salvage this conversation, weakly joked, “My lifestyle? YouTube?”

She gave him a dry look. “Not your career, although we’ll get to that. I meant this ridiculous LGQRB-whatever rainbow nonsense you and those friends of yours think is so hip.”

Right. That’s what he thought she meant. It just didn’t make any sense. “It’s not… _hip_. Where is this coming from? Did you unblock Uncle Joey on Facebook again?”

Logan said, “Your mother is not a homophobe, Thomas. You know this. She accepts who you are and would never say nor think these things.”

“Everything will be okay, sweetheart,” she soothed. She reached up to put a comforting hand on his cheek, but Thomas twitched away. Hurt flashed briefly across her face, but the sympathetic expression lingered. “We’ll get you help. There are places you can go that know how to fix you—”

“ _Seriously,_ _Mom!_ ”

“I _knew_ I should have sent you when you were in middle school, when the musical theatre thing started, but I prayed you would grow out of it on your own. But it’s not too late. We can still find you a girl! A nice girl that doesn’t mind that you’re… a little _eccentric_ …”

Remus volunteered, “We call that a ‘ _Beard_.’”

“And _you,_ “she said, turning to Remus, all traces of sympathy dropping away, replaced by raw disgust. “Mr. Mustache!” He chucked a handful of popcorn kernels at her sneering face. “This is _your_ fault. _You_ made him this way. Always forcing him to think about men doing _disgusting, unnatural_ things to each other! He was just an innocent little boy and you had to go and fill his mind with all that depraved _filth_. It’s no wonder he turned out sick with something as twisted as you in his head.”

Remus flapped his hand like a yapping puppet mouth in time with her words, unaffected by the harsh speech.

She turned back to Thomas, softening again. “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart. It’s him. Him and that flamboyant prince character of yours, with his musicals and his sissy cartoons. With those two influencing you it’s no wonder you turned into a fag.”

The word hit like a slap to the face.

Thomas blinked, feeling like he hadn’t done so in way too long. His mom would _never_ , not in a _million years,_ say that word.

“Guys,” he said with growing realization, “I think this might not be my mom.”

“ _Finally!_ ” Remus pushed off the tree and tossed his popcorn bucket over his shoulder. “So, we can we go now?”

“What _is_ she? Why is she in my imagination?”

Logan said, “She’s the embodiment of the worst, cruelest things you can imagine your mother saying to you. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a horrifying worst case scenario.”

He hadn’t been paying much attention to the earlier conversation, but he did remember Remus saying he’d made her. He turned to the Duke. “ _Why_ would you make that?”

His fake mom said, “Maybe he wants you to hate yourself.”

“Oh _fuck off_ ,” Remus snarled, his flippant attitude snapping into seething rage like a switch was hit. “Look, you bible-grinding taint cramp, the _only_ reason I haven’t—"

His hands clapped hard over his mouth, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say.

He turned to Janus with furious, feral eyes.

Janus met his glare and drawled a cold, “What?”

Remus shouted an indecipherable mess of something into his hands, turned, and stormed away.

Janus turned to Thomas with a forced smile. “Shall we continue?”

Their trail was going to disappear if Remus got too far away. It felt like some kind of betrayal to turn his back on his mom—his fake mom—but he did not want to stick around to hear what else she had to say.

He gave her one last regretful look. It was still hard to look at her and not see his mother, but at the same time he was starting to see her for what she really was. She didn’t even really look like his mom; more like a bad wax sculpture of her, _off_ in ways he couldn’t quite pinpoint but just real enough to be unsettling, with nothing inside.

God, how had he ever thought this was his mom?

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

She huffed. “Always running away from anything you don’t want to hear. Typical Thomas. I can’t believe I raised a queer _and_ a coward.”

With Remus in the lead everyone else started turning away, except Patton. He was frozen in place, staring at the figment with wide, watery eyes. Virgil tugged on his hand. “Come on, Pat.”

Patton resisted for a moment longer, still reluctant to turn away from the thing that looked so much like Thomas’s mom.

She said, “It’s okay, dear. I know you didn’t want him to be like this either.”

Patton flinched like he’d been slapped.

He sucked in a deep breath.

He squared his shoulders, said, “I was wrong. So are you,” and turned away.

“Hey—where are you going?” She tried to follow, but the trail soon disappeared around her feet, replaced with knee-deep bushes and loose, rocky soil. “Thomas Foley Sanders, get back here this instant young man!”

Patton let out a tiny, injured grunt, but they all kept walking.

She lost her footing and stumbled, crying out. She stayed where she’d fallen in the bushes. “Thomas? Thomas honey! I think I hurt myself. I—I don’t think I can stand. Don’t leave me here, Thomas. I’ll die out here if you leave me! _Please_ don’t leave me to die, Thomas!”

Thomas muttered aloud, to no one in particular, “Oh my god why is this happening please make it stop.”

Janus must have released whatever trick he used to shut Remus up, because both of Remus’s hands were free again, and suddenly grasping his morningstar. He shouldered the mace and said with long-suffering exasperation, “Jesus Christ, _okay_ , hang on, just—look the other way or something and I’ll kill her.”

“What!” Thomas said, and caught Remus’s arm before he could get too far away. “I didn’t mean that literally. _Guys_. I can’t believe I have to say this out loud, but I’m officially instituting a new rule. New rule, everybody!” He paused just long enough to be sure he had everyone’s attention. “No killing imaginary versions of my family or friends. Even to prove a philosophical point, or if they’re being giant homophobic jerks.”

Remus said, “Uh oh, _rules?_ My only weakness!” He rapped Thomas’s knuckles with the butt of his morningstar, and Thomas had to run to catch him again.

Remus threw his arms up in exasperation. “Look, none of us want to hear what she has to say, Dream Saddy is about to turn on the waterworks any second, you don’t want me to bash her skull in… You’re really tying my hands here, Thomas. And not in a sexy way, although if you wanted to--”

“There’s got to be a middle ground between listening to verbal abuse and murder.”

Remus’s head wobbled, visibly brainstorming ideas. He hesitantly suggested, “Ball gag?”

“How about we just walk faster?”

“Ugh, you always pick the most boring option,” Remus said, but dematerialized his mace, turned again, and started hiking through the forest at a much brisker pace.

Thomas tried really hard not to listen the awful things his mom’s voice was screaming at him as they walked. It took both forever and no time at all for the shouts to fade into nothing.

When they’d covered enough ground that it felt safe to slow down, Remus turned, walking blindly backward to address the rest of them.

“Did everyone notice that I tried the ‘walk away’ option first? Instead of murder?

Virgil said, “But you still tried murder.”

“But not _first_ ,” Remus insisted.

He was grinning expectantly at Thomas again, and once again, Thomas had no idea how to respond. Did Remus seriously think Thomas would be impressed that he’s considered killing his mom Plan B?

Janus saved him from having to think of a response by drawling, “Good job, dear. I’ll get you a cookie when we get home.”

Remus made an ecstatic sound and turned back around, skipping a few paces in his exuberance. He was literally skipping. Thomas shot Janus a betrayed look for encouraging him, but Janus just held his gaze for a long, unapologetic moment.

.

Sometime later—minutes? Hours?— Thomas’s eyes were starting to hurt. He hadn’t noticed it getting dark, but it must have been because it was well into twilight now, not quite night yet, but dark enough that he had to squint to make sure he didn’t trip on any debris on the path.

He said, “Hey, could anyone conjure some flashlights?”

Everyone paused to look around, apparently as surprised by the fall of night as he had been.

Logan said, “Actually, this seems like a good time to stop for the evening. You’ve indulged in more than enough daydreaming for one day, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh,” Thomas said. Well, he did still have chores to do. It was too late to finish the reshoot he’d been trying to do before he got roped into this quest, but he could leave the camera set up and do it in the morning. He really did need to do laundry, though, and it was way past dinner time.

It just felt weird, ducking out on everybody when they hadn’t finished what they came to do. He’d never left in the middle of one of these elaborate Mind Palace scenarios before. “Do I just… leave you all here? In the middle of nowhere? Without tents or food or anything?”

Logan said, “The Duke can provide us with shelter, and we don’t require food.”

Patton said, “We _can_ eat, though! In case you want to bring snacks when you come back.”

Remus said, “Don’t worry, Thomas. I’ll take good care of them,” with a grin that was too wide to be reassuring.

“When you say _‘take care of them’_ —”

Remus flicked his wrist, and in a blink they were all circled around a large, stone-edged bonfire, already ablaze. Surrounding them was a square of log benches, and beyond that was a ring of medieval-looking tents, dripping with elaborate valances and striped in color schemes to match the aesthetic of each side present.

The green and black one was burning.

Remus said, “Whoopsie! Forgot I left that on fire,” and waved the entire tent out of existence again. “Heh.”

Well, that wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. But the campground actually looked cozy enough that Thomas kind of wished he could stay and sleep under the stars with them. He still didn’t like the thought of all of them stuck here, waiting around for him to get another chance to join them; he had a pretty full schedule the next day and probably wouldn’t have any time to himself until later. “What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

Patton suggested, “Campfire stories!”

Logan said, “We’ll rest.”

“Oh, you sleep?” Neat, he was learning so much about them.

Logan said, “Sleep is not necessary for our own sakes, but any one of us remaining active while you attempt to sleep can result in your insomnia. We all do our best to rest when you do.”

Virgil said, “Most of us do at least,” and cut his eyes toward Remus.

Remus grinned, clearly delighted by the jab and more than ready to play. “Is the pot calling the kettle a bitch, Abnormelatonin?”

Logan said, “Every one of us has been guilty of keeping Thomas awake in the past.” He paused, reconsidered, and added, “Every one of us except me, obviously.”

Janus coughed, pointedly, into his fist.

Jeeze. No wonder Thomas struggled with insomnia. “Seriously? _I_ can’t sleep because _you all_ won’t go to bed? Thanks, guys.”

Most of them had the decency to look chagrined, except Remus, who chirped a happy, “You’re welcome!”

Thomas still felt bad about leaving them, especially with his imaginary mom’s accusations of disloyalty still echoing in his head, but Roman’s castle was still just a dark silhouette rising up against the distant horizon, impossibly out of reach.

He hoped Roman was okay out there. What was he doing? Did he miss them? The thought of Roman all alone out there, waiting for them to come rescue him, made Thomas’s heart ache. Stopping for the night felt a little bit like giving up on him.

“Thomas,” Logan prompted.

“Oh, yeah.” As much as he wanted to stay and keep going until they’d gotten to Roman, it just wasn’t realistic. He’d need to sleep at some point, and it would be better to tackle the trip rested. “Um. Goodnight I guess? You’re sure you’ll all be okay here?”

Patton said, “Well it might be a little _in-tents_ at first, but don’t worry about us. We should be fine _forest_ of the night!”

Okay. If Patton was punning, everything would be fine. A little of the tension between Thomas’s shoulder blades eased. “Okay. Goodnight, guys.”

Patton said, “Goodnight, Thomas! Sleep well, I love you!”

“I love you too,” Thomas said, the world beginning to blur around the edges as he became more and more aware of his physical body. He waved before it had faded completely, calling, “Night, love you guys!”

The last thing he saw as he sunk out was Remus’s widening eyes.

Wait, that wasn't...

Ah, too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: In this chapter, Thomas meets an imaginary version of his mother that is the embodiment of his deepest fears. She uses language typical of an extremely homophobic parent, including alluding to conversion camps and calling him the slurs s***y and f**. It is clearly narratively presented as wrong and abusive, and is made clear that Thomas's real mom in no way shares those views.
> 
> I don't want anyone to have to stop reading because of one scene, so if that's something you cannot handle HMU here or on Tumblr and I can send you a version with those parts cut.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not know Thomas's real mom's name, and since she hasn't given permission for her likeness to be used in fic I tried to pick a name for C!Thomas's that seemed unlikely to be real. On the very unlikely chance I guessed badly, my sincere apologies to a no doubt wonderful woman.


	4. Campfire stories Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton and Janus talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, unending appreciation to my beautiful betas, beauty-and-passion and parallelmonsoon. This fic would be nowhere near as good without all your amazing insights. And shoutout to the Secret Discord Joan Collective for cheerleading and brainstorming! You guys rock!
> 
> No warnings in this chapter.

After Thomas left, they all settled around the campfire. Logan and Virgil both conjured books—Logan something sciencey, and Virgil a comic book with a little girl and a dinosaur on the cover—and sat back-to-back on one of the log benches, using each other as backrests, Virgil slumped against Logan’s impeccable posture. Patton sat next to them attempting to roast marshmallows, but patience had never been one of his strong suits and they kept catching on fire.

Janus and Remus sat directly opposite them on the other side of the fire, playing the most complicated version of Cat’s Cradle Patton had ever seen, string wound between every finger of all six of Janus’s manifested arms while Remus plucked and twisted and wove it into elaborate geometric patterns. There was a worn comfort to their movements, like this was a well-played game between them.

Apparently Remus was the only one among them that liked burnt marshmallows, because he kept pausing their game to dart up and snatch the flaming marshmallow briquettes right off Patton’s stick, saying, “Ow! Ow! _Ow!_ ” and tittering when molten sugar tried to fuse onto his fingertips.

It was peaceful, almost.

Patton couldn’t remember the last time they had all (well, almost all) shared the same mind space at once. Definitely long before Virgil had decided to join them on this side of the campfire. Maybe before Thomas was in middle school, when they’d really started keeping to opposite sides of the mindscape.

Once upon a time they’d all gotten along. Back when everything was simpler. When Virgil’s fear hadn’t developed into anxiety, when the worst lies Janus oversaw were about how much Thomas liked the socks Aunt Patty gave him for Christmas, and Remus hadn’t been exposed to anything more violent than a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

Then they grew up. They started disagreeing more and more. Remus got more… well, just _more_. The Thomasphere had once been an open, undivided space they all shared, but at some point they’d started separating themselves to opposite ends of it, three on each side, until the divide became a tangible barrier between them. At some point they’d stopped visiting each other, and at some point after that they’d stopped being welcome in each other’s company unless it was absolutely necessary for Thomas’s wellbeing. Even in hindsight Patton couldn’t pinpoint quite how or why it had happened, but one day he’d looked around and realized that he hadn’t seen Thomas’s three most troublesome sides in the greater consciousness in over a year.

He’d tried, once, to pop into the other side sometime after he’d realized how long it had been since he’d seen any of them, but all he remembered of the experience were suspicious eyes glaring from the shadows and an overwhelming sense of unwelcome.

Back in the present, Patton’s marshmallow was on fire again.

He was trying to blow it out when he heard it. Distant and barely audible over the crackle of the fire and the drone of the forest’s chirping fauna, a familiar voice called, “ _Thomas?_ ”

Oh, no.

It should have been obvious that if they stopped the figment pretending to be Mrs. Sanders would catch up with him, but he’d sort of been assuming that the convoluted logic of the imagination would mean once they’d lost her she would stay lost.

Patton glanced around, but Logan and Virgil were still too consumed by their reading to have noticed the faint sound. Janus had, though; he dropped his hands, extra arms dematerializing in an instant, string sculpture collapsing into a tangled mess between them. Remus cocked his head at the same time Mrs. Sanders called again, “ _Thomas_ ,” still faint enough not to pull Logan and Virgil out of their reading.

Janus and Remus exchanged a silent series of facial expressions that Patton didn’t know either of them well enough to interpret. It ended when Janus tilted his chin in the direction of the noise. Remus stood without a word, stepped over the bench, and walked into the darkness.

Patton opened his mouth to ask where Remus was going, but no sound came out.

No sound _would_ come out.

His eyes met Janus’s across the bonfire. Janus pressed a gloved finger to his own lips.

Patton closed his mouth again. Okay. _Okay_. He was trying to trust Janus more, and that had to start with actually trusting Janus.

Anyway, wasn’t it obvious where Remus was going? That thing couldn’t be allowed to stay in Thomas’s head, pretending to be his mom, telling him all those awful things. It would hurt Thomas. It wasn’t nice to think about Remus… _unmaking_ her, but even Patton could recognize that it had to be done. Logan and Virgil would probably agree with that, but there was no reason to trouble them with the reality of it happening.

Thankfully, with Remus more in control of himself and his influence on others, Patton was finding it easier to set aside those kinds of unpleasant thoughts.

Across the fire Janus watched him with wary interest, elbows on knees and fingers steepled at his chin like a brooding cartoon villain.

Patton knocked his burnt marshmallow into the fire and stood. Virgil glanced up, but Patton just gave him a smile and a reassuring knee squeeze until he went back to his comic book.

By the time he’d rounded the fire pit his voice was back enough for him to ask, “Is it okay if I sit with you?”

Janus sat up a little straighter but didn’t unsteeple his fingers. “That depends. Are you here to try to open a debate about the sanctity of the life of a figment of imagination’s figment of imagination?”

Patton shifted on his feet. “If that’s what you want to talk about, we can, but I think we’d be arguing for the same side.”

Janus’s eyebrows twitched. He covered his surprise almost immediately, gesturing to the bench next to him. “In that case, be my guest.”

Patton sat, and almost immediately realized he’d made a mistake.

He and Janus had never been especially close, even before they’d drifted apart. One of Patton’s earliest memories was of Mrs. Sanders explaining to Thomas that lying was bad, and it had left Patton perpetually unsure of the bossy boy who seemed to think that the only difference between the truth and a lie was how stubborn you were prepared to be.

He’d always had the feeling Janus had never liked him much, either.

Now that Patton was here, ready to start mending fences, he didn’t know where to begin.

The silence stretched between them.

The only thing he could think to say was, “Do you remember when Thomas was little, and we weren’t Dark Sides and Light Sides, we were just… Sides?”

Janus said, “Of course not. It’s not as if I was there.”

It took Patton a long, confused moment to realize that Janus was doing that backward talk thing he did now.

Patton tried to take it in stride. “I miss that.”

“Hm,” Janus said. He tilted his head, regarding Patton with a too-keen interest. Patton’s statement had been sincere, but something about the look reminded him that Janus could sense their lies. Janus knew things about all of them that no one else could. He protected their secrets, but he _knew_ them. He let Patton sit with the discomfort of that thought for a moment before he said, “I’m not surprised.”

He… Wait… Did that mean he _was_ surprised?

No, that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like it was a big revelation, that Patton wanted everyone to get along and be happy and love each other. That was almost satirically on-brand for him. So… it wasn’t a lie, and Janus really wasn’t surprised?

Oh, gosh, Patton couldn’t keep up.

Janus apparently decided to take pity on him, because he dropped the slick, sarcastic tone and said, “Considering you were one of the major factors behind the division, I wouldn’t expect you to remember those times fondly.”

“I… what? No. _What?_ ”

Janus frowned, as puzzled as Patton had been a moment before.

Patton said, “I didn’t want you guys to _leave!_ ”

“Of course not. You simply wanted us to behave only in the manner which you deemed acceptable, even if it went against our very natures.”

“I—wha—” That made it sound like he’d wanted them to be something they weren’t, but he would _never_ want that! Maybe he had been a little stern at times, but it was just because he’d wanted everyone to get along and be good. He’d never understood why the others wouldn’t just _behave_. Why Remus kept making all those horrible creations and Virgil kept frightening everyone and Janus kept… lying…

Oh.

Janus had apparently been following Patton’s face journey, because a moment after the epiphany struck, he said, “There we are.”

Patton said, “I’m going to have to make so many ‘ _I’m sorry’_ cards.”

“Oh relax. You weren’t the only factor. You’re not _that_ important.”

“Still. Janus, I—”

Janus put a hand up, halting Patton’s impending speech. “Spare me, please. I neither need nor want an apology from you. You can also take me off your little greeting card list, while you’re at it. It’s enough to know that you’re open to doing away with the ridiculous false dichotomy we’ve all been subject to for so long.”

“Of course I want that,” Patton said. Though he understood now why Janus might have assumed otherwise. As hard as it was to admit, looking back, Patton hadn’t always reacted to the others with the level of openness and acceptance he always aspired to. He’d messed things up so many times, in so many ways. He kept messing things up, but he was going to keep trying to fix it all until he’d made up for every last mistake. “There’s nothing I want more than for us to be a family again.”

“All of us?” Janus asked.

“Well yeah, of course. I know we’ve had our differences, but I understand now why you do the things you do. I know you’re looking out for Thomas as much as any of the rest of us. It won’t always be easy for me to acknowledge my prejudices and give you the empathetic ear you deserve, but you’re worth the effort, Janus.”

Janus said, “That’s sweet, Patton. But I wasn’t talking about me.”

Patton’s smile froze.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know that Remus was one of them. Patton’s idyllic fantasy of all of them reunited and harmonious again _should_ include Remus. And it did! Just… in a wobbly, indistinct way that became less clear the more he tried to focus on it. If he really forced himself to examine his dream, the only Remus he could envision coexisting peacefully with them was the Remus he’d known when they were really little, when Remus was just a moody, hyperactive kid who thought bathwater was more lethal than pure acid, asked so many questions even Logan got annoyed, and once figured out how to make bubbles that made fart sounds when they popped then laughed about it for _months_.

Patton missed that kid.

But he didn’t exist anymore. In his place was a nightmare.

It felt so mean to think that, but that’s what Remus was. Patton’s worst nightmare made real. Someone with the tools and the desire to hurt Thomas down to his very core. Someone who didn’t care about friends or family or right or wrong, who just wanted to see everything good in the world burned to ash so he could laugh at the ruin.

He’s behaved better than Patton had expected today, but the Remus that was helping them find Roman was not the real Remus, and as soon as they found Roman, Remus would go back to gleefully wallowing in his depravity. He’d said himself that he couldn’t wait to return his newfound conscience, or whatever it was he’d taken from Roman. He _liked_ being that way.

It was part of Patton’s job to love every part of Thomas, and Remus’s existence had always made him feel like a little bit of a failure. It wasn’t good for Thomas, having a heart that disliked _any_ part of him. But Patton genuinely didn’t know how anyone could love the Duke.

Although… someone did.

Janus had let the conversation fizzle to nothing while Patton grappled with the hypocrisy of his dream. It would be so easy to leave it there, uncomfortable with his own failures and unwilling to address them.

Instead, he said, “You’re Remus’s friend, right?”

Janus nodded, sharply, once. “I was his jailer for nearly two decades.”

Oh. Wow. Patton was in no way ready to unpack that statement. “But you’re his _friend_ , right?”

“I… _suppose_. You could call it that.”

“Why?”

“Because you pressed the issue. In deference to my well-established reputation as someone eager divulge his personal feelings.”

Okay, he was starting to recognize when Janus was doing the backward talk thing, and he’d probably deserved that one. “No, I mean why are you his friend? I’d love to love Remus, I just… can’t figure out how? He keeps hurting Thomas. How do I love someone who keeps hurting Thomas?”

Janus sat up taller and tugged on the corners of his capelet, straightening it needlessly. Patton couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about making him uncomfortable. He tried to be patient while Janus gathered his thoughts.

At length, Janus said, “As you know, love isn’t exactly my _raison d’etre_ …” He seemed to be over-pronouncing that word, but Patton didn’t speak Spanish, so he couldn’t be sure. “That sort of question is really more your area. But… perhaps I can ask you this. Why did you immediately forgive Roman today?”

Patton was a little thrown by the topic change. “Because… that wasn’t Roman.”

“It certainly sounded like him.”

“No, it didn’t! Maybe it had his voice, but Roman would never say those things. He’s not himself.”

“All right. Suppose Roman were to remain ‘not himself’ indefinitely. Would he eventually become unworthy of your love?”

“ _No!_ ” The thought alone made Patton want to cry a little. “Roman could never do anything to make me love him less! And he needs that love now more than ever.”

“But he hurt all of us. By doing so, he hurt Thomas.”

“But—that’s not his fault. It’s like… he’s sick right now. His sickness might make him do things he doesn’t really want to do, but that’s the sickness’s fault, not his.”

“If that’s the case, why are Roman’s crimes excused by his ‘sickness’, yet Remus’s are not?”

That… _seemed_ like a good point. It sounded like it made sense. But it felt wrong, in a way Patton couldn’t immediately pinpoint but nonetheless felt sure of to his core.

Because… because that’s who Remus was. That’s who he had always been. He was _more_ like himself like that.

Except the fact that a person had been sick their entire life didn’t mean they weren’t sick. Just because it was their normal didn’t mean it was how they _should_ be.

So, maybe it was because Remus was happy doing bad things. He always seemed to revel in the chaos he created. Oh, except Remus had spent the entire day spreading no more chaos than any of them could handle, holding himself back now that he was finally capable of it.

Well then, maybe because he _wanted_ to be that way. He was eager to get back to his old out-of-control self. Though… maybe that was just because his old self was familiar. He probably didn’t know how to be any other way, and that must have been so scary, suddenly finding yourself a different person than you’d ever been before. Could anyone really blame him for wanting to stay safe inside the familiar person he was used to being?

A stubborn, incessant part of Patton kept saying, ‘ _but, but, but_ …’, desperate to cling to its position without being able to present any solid arguments to support it. Patton had always listened to that voice before. He’d listened to it after they got the callback and he’d listened to it after the wedding and he was beginning to think that maybe— _just maybe_ —he should really stop listening to it.

When it became clear that Patton didn’t have an answer to his query, Janus continued, “People talk about the masks we put on for others like they’re deceptive facades; the tools of a dishonest person, used to make others think we’re something we’re not. I would argue that the things we choose to show say so much more about who we really are than our raw, unfiltered impulses. Tell me, Patton, what would you be like if you had no control over your actions? If you were forced to act on your every whim?”

_Gosh_ , what a question.

And Janus had asked it so casually, like he was simply making another detached point in their debate instead of asking Patton to distill himself down to his most basic component parts.

A nervous giggle bubbled out of him. “I don’t… I would…” He would cry all the time. “Hah…” _All the time_. “I don’t… knnoowwww…?”

Janus just looked at him from the slitted side of his snake eye. He would have probably been able to tell that was a lie even if he weren’t the conduit for all of their deceptions. Patton wasn’t quite sure the extent of Janus’s lie-detecting skills, whether he knew all the things Patton wasn’t saying or could only sense the presence of untruth without knowing the details. No matter the case, at least he was kind enough not to say anything about it.

Instead he said, “You haven’t spent enough time with Remus to know him by anything other than name since we were children. Maybe the first step to you caring for Remus is simply for you to finally meet him as he would choose to be, instead of who he’s been forced to be his entire existence.”

Logan’s book clapped shut with a crack that made Patton jump.

In the above world Thomas was just slipping into bed, which was generally their signal to go lay down themselves. Sleep was easier for some than others—Virgil’s own insomnia kept Thomas up a lot, and Remus always seemed to get more active at night, like he was running on the opposite schedule from everyone else, bouncing frenetically around the mindscape while all of the rest of them slept.

Logan said, “Goodnight, everyone,” with inarguable finality. He stood and looked at them all expectantly until Virgil and Janus both rolled their eyes and got up, too. “Patton?”

“I’ll go to bed in a minute, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to make Thomas watch videos on his phone all night again, are you?”

“Not tonight. It’s just that I only managed to get one perfect marshmallow so far, and I won’t rest until I have _s’more!_ ”

Logan sighed like he’d been clinging to the end of his rope for decades. “Well. See that it doesn’t take long.”

“Okay. Goodnight Logan! I love you. Love you, Virgil. Lov—uhm… goodnight Janus.”

Janus sent him a smirk that Patton couldn’t interpret before ducking into his tent. Virgil and Logan both retired to Logan’s tent—poor little fret bat, so afraid to be alone in the Imagination—and then it was just Patton, his marshmallows, and his thoughts.

Janus was going to be a difficult person to be friends with.

It would be worth the trouble, but no other side had ever been able to make Patton question himself quite this much. Sure, he got into plenty of arguments with Logan and… well, mostly just Logan, but even when Thomas decided to side with Logan, Patton had never walked away thinking he might have been _wrong_ , just that Logan had been a little more right.

It was a brand new feeling, and he’d been feeling it an awful lot since Janus started coming around again.

It wasn’t very fun. It was, if he was being brutally honest, very _not_ fun. But it felt like he was growing, for the first time in a long time.

Patton wasn’t alone long before Remus sauntered back into the campground.


	5. Campfire Stories Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton and Remus talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: this chapter contains Remus-typical sexual innuendo and very mild gore.
> 
> My continued eternal thanks to my betas, parallelmonsoon and beauty-and-passion, and the super secret discord server for helping me with things like thinking of the exact word that my brain refuses to give me.

Patton’s pulse picked up as Remus wandered back into their cozy little fire circle. Remus’s attention was absorbed by a large bone he held, one knobby end cracked off, a few stringy tendons and scraps of meat still attached. He had a long, thin knife stuck up the jagged end of the bone and was digging out some kind of pinkish goop from inside it as he walked, letting it plop unheeded in the dirt. He dropped down on the log bench closest to where he’d emerged from, almost opposite Patton again.

Remus didn’t acknowledge Patton’s presence, just started scraping the sinew off the remaining knob of bone, humming something that seemed to lack any trace of melody or rhythm.

The hateful words of the Mrs. Sanders imposter were still rattling around in Patton’s head; both the awful things she’d accused Remus of, and her parting words to Patton.

_You didn’t want him to be like this either._

Patton had been, by far, the longest holdout on the gay issue. Looking back now it was clear that he’d been ignorant and unwilling to let go of his long-time dream of Thomas with the perfect family: a wife to kiss him over the breakfast table and two kids to cringe at his jokes. Back then, that had been the only real life happy ending Patton knew existed, and he wanted _so badly_ for Thomas to have a happy ending.

But Remus had embraced Thomas’s sexuality right from the start. When Thomas hit puberty and Remus started giving him fantasies about _men_ … well, they’d all assumed he was just being his normal disgusting self, trying to push his depravity onto Thomas like he always seemed to be doing in every other aspect of his life.

They’d all spent years insisting Remus was bad and wrong for pushing that kind of thing on poor innocent Thomas, but eventually, one by one, they’d started accepting it themselves. Patton didn’t think any of them had ever looked back long enough to think about how much time and anguish they could have saved Thomas if they’d only listened to Remus. Or to apologize for not listening.

Okay, Patton could do this. He stood and rounded the fire.

Remus looked up without raising his head, watching Patton approach with the same wary gaze a feral cat watches a strange human trying to entice it with food. There was a rusty smear of something across his cheekbone, like he’d tried to wipe a splatter of iodine off without a mirror and just made it worse.

Patton’s muscles locked up, half from fear of spooking Remus and half from fear of Remus spooking him.

Remus had a _knife_. Remus also had a large, freshly harvested bone he was apparently turning into a craft project, but Patton wasn’t going to think about that or where it came from.

Before he got any closer, Patton said, “Would it be okay if I sit with you?”

Remus’s head tilted at a curious and not entirely natural angle. “Why?”

“I… don’t know.” He hadn’t thought this through. He should really start thinking things through. “I thought it would be nice to keep you company, since you’re over here all alone?”

“I’m usually alone,” Remus said. “I am _very_ unpleasant.”

Something uncomfortable curdled in Patton’s stomach. “Oh, I—well, I don’t think—you…” He forced himself to take a breath and regroup. “Would you like to not be alone? Right now?”

Remus’s smile was as sudden and blinding as a camera flash. “Sure! Pop a squat, Pop!” and scooched over a bit even though there was already plenty of room on the log next to him.

Patton sat, and Remus went back to his whittling.

It took Patton a minute to muster up the courage to blurt, “I owe you an apology.”

Remus eyed him suspiciously. “You don’t owe me shit.”

Actually, Patton was beginning to think he might owe Remus an awful lot of apologies, but after everything that had happened that day it wasn’t a point that he had the energy to argue. “Okay then, I _want to_ apologize.”

Remus raised his eyebrows in disinterested expectation.

Patton took a deep breath. “When Thomas was growing up, you spent years trying to tell us he was gay. We were all so convinced that you were just trying to corrupt him that we never listened. We were so mean to you, but you were right and you were only trying to get Thomas to embrace his true self.”

Remus interrupted Patton’s monologue to point out, “Oh, I just wanted him to suck a dick.”

Patton chose to ignore that and press on. “I don’t think any of us ever apologized for that. So, I’m apologizing now. I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you, Remus.”

Remus turned back to his whittling, underwhelmed by Patton’s heartfelt contrition. “Apology accepted or whatever, but you were just doing what you do. Why would I be mad at you for doing your job?”

Patton had spent most of his existence mad at Remus for doing his job. The fact that Remus didn’t have the same inclination was… a lot of things. Humbling. Embarrassing. Probably some complicated, big words that Logan would know.

If Remus could forgive Patton his past mistakes, the least Patton could do was try to do the same.

The only olive branch he could think to extend was, “What are you making?”

“A flute,” Remus said. “But it’ll probably end up sounding silly since it’s already a little humerus.”

Patton blinked, too stunned to even laugh. “Was that a dad joke?”

“I’d call it more of a murder joke, but,” he waved the knife vaguely, seceding the joke to Patton.

The bone was clean and white now, and Remus moved on to carving a notch into the unbroken end with a confidence that spoke of long practice.

Unsure of how to broach the subject, Patton gave the awkward start, “So, that, umm…” he gestured into the darkness, “that… _thing_ …”

“If this is a prelude to a Dad Lecture, you should know that I still won’t care whether you’re mad _or_ just disappointed.”

“Oh, I know,” Patton said. He hadn’t quite figured out how he felt about that situation, but it was definitely neither of those things. “I’m not here to lecture you. I’m just trying to understand.”

“What’s there to understand? You heard her. You want that thing whispering sweet nothings into Thomas’s subconscious all night?”

“ _I_ don’t.” Oh, that made it sound like he thought Remus did. Although… he kind of did think that a little. Remus always seemed like he wanted the worst possible things for Thomas. “I guess I don’t get why you’d even create something like that in the first place. Especially if you’re just going to…” He gestured to the flute Remus was carving, instead of saying it out loud.

“Yeah, she wasn’t my proudest work,” he admitted easily. He raised the flute and gave it a couple experimental toots. It made a noise like a windstorm roaring through a haunted house. Apparently happy with that, he moved to screwing the tip of the knife into the bone, boring the first finger hole.

Patton said, “Wouldn’t it be nicer if you made things you were proud of?”

Remus raised his head to frown incredulously at Patton. “Do you think Thomas is proud of every shit he takes? Sometimes creation is more about forcing something out of you than making something beautiful. All those things Mommie Dearest was saying would be floating around Thomas’s brain whether or not I gave them a place to go. I have to shape them into something before I can destroy them. Like sandcastles, or expectations.”

Patton had no idea that was something Remus did. He knew Remus was in charge of all the bad thoughts, but it had always seemed like he was more interested in forcing them on Thomas than policing them in any way.

Now that Patton thought about it, he actually hardly knew _anything_ Remus did besides keep Thomas up all night and occasionally try to convince him to jump off a bridge. All the rest of them were responsible for a bunch of stuff, and there were plenty of things Remus _should_ have been doing that would have gone completely neglected if Roman and Logan weren’t willing to pick up some of the slack. Patton had never given much thought to how Remus must spend all his time, but if he had he probably would have assumed he spent his days loafing and his nights wreaking havoc. It hadn’t occurred to him that Remus might silently be taking care of anything beyond all their notice.

“How often do you do that?”

Remus paused in his carving to scratch his head with the point of his knife, considering. “Couple a day, maybe.”

“You have to… _hurt_ Thomas’s mom _twice a day?_ ”

“It’s not always Ruth,” Remus said, like that made it better. “They take the form of any and all of Thomas’s family and friends. Lots of his brothers. _Lots_ of Joans.”

“Oh, god,” Patton said, stomach twisting at the thought.

Patton was tying himself all up in knots over this conversation, and Remus barely even seemed to be paying attention, most of his attention focused on his carving as he spoke. “It’s not so bad. After the five or six hundredth time you barely even think about the deep psychological horror of watching the life fade from your loved one’s eyes over and over and over and over and over and over again.”

Patton blinked back a sudden sharp ache behind his eyes. He’d kind of assumed Remus didn’t love any of Thomas’s friends or family. Patton oversaw the allocation of love, so he knew that Remus got exactly as much as Roman did—which was to say, oodles and oodles—but he’d always wondered if there was something wrong with Remus that caused him somehow… not to feel any of it? How could he, when he was always so blasé—joyful even—about the idea of hurting Thomas’s friends and family.

If he really did love all of them…

How many times do you have to hurt someone you love to become that desensitized to it? Could you ever really be, or did you just build a wall around your heart and overcompensate to distract people from noticing? Patton wanted to cry just thinking about it.

Remus said, “I’ve been able to make a lot less of them since I got, you know…” He circled his knife around the air next to his ear.

“But isn’t that nice?” Patton said. “Being like this? If it means you can do… _that_ less?”

“It’s boring is what it is,” Remus said. “Everything’s so _predictable_ like this. Now I always know exactly what I’m going to do _before_ I do it. Where’s the fun in that? And anyway, even if I did want to stay like this, what would it matter? Not like you all are going to leave Roman to _my_ fate. This is him or me. I know a hawk from a handsaw, and I know exactly where I’ll be when all this is over..”

That was harsh. It was harsh and as much as he wanted to, Patton couldn’t contradict it. He felt awful that it wasn’t a harder decision, but at the end of the day it wasn’t even a question which of the twins Patton would choose when it came down to it. But…

“I’m sure we could figure something out. Maybe…”

“Don’t get me wrong, Sodapop; your naive optimism is _very_ sexy in a convoluted purity imbalance kind of way that could totally work for me if you’re interested, but I like my trash heap just fine. This is a fun vacation, but trust me, the last thing I want is to live like this.”

“Oh…” Patton said. He wanted to argue more—there _had to be_ something they could do—but he didn’t want to invalidate Remus’s feelings. He didn’t _understand_ , but he’d never understood Remus before, so that wasn’t new. Just because he was making an effort now didn’t mean he had gotten there yet, and as much as he wanted to argue, it would be wrong to treat Remus like he didn’t know himself. “Okay… if that’s what you want…”

Remus flashed him one of his more deranged smiles and raised his flute to his lips. He played a quick couple of notes with the three finger holes he’d finished. It was the briefest scrap of a melody, but the sound was clear and sweet and spoke of an expertise that Patton was not expecting.

"I didn't know you could play the flute," Patton said. Thomas couldn't play any instrument except ukulele. That happened sometimes; if one of them possessed a skill that Thomas didn't, Thomas would have a natural talent for it if he ever tried to pick it up.

"I can play anything," Remus said. He examined one of the finger holes, shaved a little more off, and moved to carve out another. "Anything except ukulele. I gave that to Roman so Thomas could use it."

Patton meant to say, "Oh," but no sound came out.

They weren't people. They didn't have real bodies. All they were was a collection of functions and skills, so giving one of those away was the equivalent of a person chopping off his own foot so someone else could have three. Roman must have done the same thing with their inhibitions when they'd traded places. Patton couldn't imagine how awful that must be, pulling out an entire piece of himself. Was that something they did a lot? The thought of the twins carving off bits of themselves and trading them like baseball cards made Patton feel a little sick.

Why in the world would they _do that?_

Patton said, "Why can’t Thomas use it if you have it?"

"They keep me buried too deep for anything of mine to get to Thomas most of the time."

Patton hadn’t even known a Side _could be_ cut off that completely. Part of him wanted to be furious at Janus and Roman for repressing Remus so thoroughly he'd had to resort to self-mutilation if he wanted to help Thomas, but his conversation with Janus was still fresh in his mind, casting his own actions in a new and horrible light. How many times in the past had Roman been considering letting one of Remus's ideas slip through, only to be vehemently shut down by Patton? At first it was because most of Remus's ideas were mostly all icky, but after a while Patton had stopped even bothering to listen to them; if an idea came from Remus, it was bad.

He hadn't really noticed before now, but it had been years since Roman had run one of Remus's ideas by him for approval. He'd probably stopped asking because he’d figured out Patton's answer would always be _absolutely not_.

So maybe the _They_ Remus was talking about included Patton, even if he'd never technically been one of the hands holding him under.

Epiphany came like the click of a light switch.

“That’s why Roman and Logan have to do your job for you,” Patton said. “You _can’t_.”

"Yup," Remus said. "Anyway, here's Wonderwall!" He raised the flute and blew into it so hard the sweet instrument turned shrill and piercing, playing something that could only be considered music by the loosest definition.

After only a handful of notes Janus called from his tent, "Remus, _please_ keep making that _wonderful_ noise. None of us are trying to sleep or anything."

" _Hah!_ " Remus shouted back. "Your backward talk trick won't work on me anymore, Anaconman! I'm unstoppable now!" He took an enormous breath and tore a shrieking, discordant wail from the poor flute.

From inside Logan's tent, Virgil shouted, "Remus I will _haunt your fucking dreams_ if you don't shut up."

Remus turned to Patton with a grin so ecstatic Patton felt an answering smile tug at his own lips without any permission from him. Eyes alight, Remus whispered, " _It's just like old times!_ "

Remus brought the flute into position again, but Patton caught his hand before he managed to wrestle another note out of the poor, abused instrument.

Remus’s eyes landed on Patton’s hand covering his own, with a manic focus so intense that Patton could practically feel warming his knuckles.

Patton quickly pulled it back, talking fast to cover the misstep. "You know, Thomas is trying to sleep right now! Maybe it would be nice if you played something soothing, to help everyone sleep, instead of keeping him up?"

"Nah. Thomas can only--" 

He cut himself off, eyes suddenly unfocused, head tilting and tilting and _tilting_...

"Remus?"

Remus said, "Thomas can only hear me when he's trying to sleep. But he listened to me all day today. He _talked_ to me. _On purpose_."

Was _that_ why Remus was always keeping Thomas up at night? Patton had always thought it was just another way for him to be as destructive as possible, ruining Thomas’s sleep schedule by pouring an endless stream of muck into Thomas’s head when it was _supposed_ to be Quiet Time. But Quiet Time meant that even the most muffled sounds could suddenly be heard. The kind of sounds that would have been lost over the noise of the day, when so many louder voices were talking.

Patton took being listened to for granted. Thomas _always_ listened to him. He couldn't imagine what it would be like for Thomas to never look his way, to have to steal every scrap of attention he could ever hope to get.

And now he finally had the opportunity for Thomas to hear him, and _oh_ , looking back on the day, Remus had been trying _so hard_ , bouncing around and showing off his creations like an excited kindergartner. He'd tried to pick the non-violent option so he wouldn't upset Thomas even though he knew it wouldn't fix the problem in the long-term. He was still far more graphic and potty-mouthed than Patton was comfortable with, but even he could admit that Remus had toned down the gross parts of himself considerably. Really, he'd shown a remarkable amount of restraint for someone so unfamiliar with the concept.

And Thomas hadn't even been especially _nice_ to Remus. He'd put up with him, at best, recoiling every time Remus had tried to reach out. And Remus hadn't stopped trying to reach out.

Remus had gotten the barest scraps of Thomas's attention today, and it was still far more than he'd ever been given before.

Patton felt something gathering in his chest, nudging incessantly against his ribcage. He had to examine it for a few long moments to make sure it was true.

It was.

"Remus?" Patton said.

"Mm?"

"You were really good today. I'm proud of you."

Remus looked like he'd never been called that before and couldn't tell whether or not he liked it.

His eyes drifted out of focus, processing the statement. He was silent long enough that Patton started to worry he'd pushed too hard, too fast, and had made Remus uncomfortable. Maybe it was silly, to think Remus would even care that he’d made Patton proud. Oh, god, of course Remus wouldn’t care about that. Patton was trying to figure out ways to desperately backpedal when Remus raised his flute and said, doubtfully, "So, something… soothing?"

He didn’t seem offended. He seemed… like he was trying to meet Patton halfway.

Cautiously, Patton smiled. "Like a lullaby."

"The only lullabies I know are about dead babies."

Oh. Well. "It's good that you recognize that that isn't appropriate subject matter right now. Something slow and pretty would be nice."

Remus still looked deeply skeptical, but he raised the flute anyway and started to play.

Remus's flute, when he wasn't actively trying to make it sound like a nightmare, played beautifully. The song was a sweet, disjointed thing, wandering lackadaisically around the melody, as aimless and distractible as Remus himself. Patton could sense Virgil and Janus dropping off to sleep, and Thomas had drifted into that delicate, half-asleep doze that was so easy for any of them to knock him out of it they were too loud.

When Remus’s song ended, he lowered the flute and looked expectantly to Patton.

Patton whispered, “That was beautiful, kiddo.”

Remus didn’t seem to know what to do with that compliment, head cocking like a befuddled Labrador.

To cover the somewhat awkward lull, Patton said, “But if you really wanted it to sound silly you should have used a funny bone.”

Remus’s eyes went huge and stunned. “ _Patton_. Was that a _murder joke?_ ”

“I—No! It was…” But Remus looked _so happy,_ smile growing by the second, and the thought of it dimming felt like losing something precious. Reluctantly, he admitted, “ _Maybe_ …”

Remus grinned impossibly wider. Patton had always thought Remus’s smiles were kind of scary, but right then he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how he ever could have felt that way. Remus lit up when he smiled, sunny and open and unexpectedly pure for someone so... so…

There was still that smear on Remus’s cheek. It was just dirt, Patton told himself. It might have been clay; it was that same reddish-brown.

He said, “Don’t move, okay?”

He quickly conjured a handkerchief, licked it, and tried to broadcast his movements clearly as he brought it up to rub at the rusty smear on Remus’s cheek.

Remus froze at the first touch, eyes wide, so tense he practically vibrated with it. The smudge had dried, so Patton had to cautiously steady Remus’s jaw with his other hand, hyper-aware of how close he was putting so many parts of himself to Remus’s teeth. But Remus sat, stiff and still, until Patton gave his now clean cheek one last swipe and pulled back.

“There,” Patton smiled. “Much better.”

Remus blinked, focus slowly returning to his eyes.

His voice was uncharacteristically subdued when he said, “If you want to spit on my face that much, you don’t be so coy about it. I’d be into that.”

Patton looked at his handkerchief, smeared pink and still damp from his saliva. He quickly dematerialized it, cheeks warm. “Why do you have to do that?” At Remus’s blank look, he elaborated, “Make everything gross?”

“Everything _is_ gross,” Remus said.

“No! Some things are just sweet and happy and nice.”

“Name one nice thing. I’ll ruin it for you.”

“Oh, I—I don’t think that’s a game we need to play right now…”

“Why do you have such a hate boner for gross stuff, anyway? I’ve never understood that.”

Patton wasn’t even sure how to answer that question. It seemed like the kind of question that answered itself; gross stuff was gross _because it was gross_. It was right there in the definition!

Remus said, “Gross is just an adjective, it’s not a moral determination. Weird sex stuff doesn’t hurt anyone that isn’t into being hurt. Unless you’re doing it wrong, but that’s a whole different can o’ maggots. Put bacteria and cow juice together and let them fester for a few months and they make cheese. Is cheese gross?”

Patton loved cheese. Thinking about it from that point of view actually did make it sound pretty stomach-turning, but… Patton _loved_ cheese. “No…”

“Look at anything from the right perspective and it’ll look gross. From a different angle, all the same things are great. _You_ need to stop letting the fact that something is icky stop you from enjoying the great parts of it or you’ll never have any fun.”

In the above world Thomas rolled onto his stomach, still stuck in that liminal space between asleep and awake and unable to get the rest of the way there with the two of them still talking. The way Remus glanced up suddenly, he must have noticed too. They really did need to let him sleep, but Patton found himself surprisingly disappointed by the thought of ending their conversation. Getting to know Remus wasn’t the nightmare he’d feared it would be. He’d expected it to be challenging—and it was, just in a much nicer way than he’d anticipated. He was almost sad for it to end.

But Thomas needed sleep.

Anyway, the tents Remus had made them seemed downright cozy, and it would be a shame to let them—

“ _Oh!_ Remus, your tent!” There was still a gap in their circle of tents where Remus’s should be. “Where are you going to sleep?”

Remus said, “I’ll sleep out here. Wouldn’t be the first time I slept in the dirt.”

“Under the stars?” Roman had given the Imagination a stunning night sky, stars glittering brighter than diamonds in the moonless night. Every few seconds another falling star would blaze a bright streak across the sky. It was magical.

“With the worms,” Remus corrected.

The thought, ‘ _Ew, worms,_ ’ flitted through Patton’s head. It was the kind of knee-jerk background thought that he almost let pass without further thought. But tonight was a night for mindfulness and challenging himself, so instead of letting it pass, Patton tried to set aside the ick and see the good parts of worms. Earthworms were… a nice shade of pink. They helped flowers grow. They all had that little ring around their necks, like they were all wearing turtlenecks, and their little pointed noses were honestly kind of cute, all wiggly and curious, like sniffy puppies.

Actually, now that he thought about it, worms were downright adorable. Precious little squirmy dirt babies!

Patton glanced around the campsite Remus had made them. Sure, the tents look nice, but out here it was a different kind of nice. The ground was soft, and the fire was still crackling low. Actually, it was positively cozy! “Would you like some company?”

“Always! When?”

“Tonight? Out here. With the worms.”

Remus’s eyes widened. “Like a sleepover?”

“Like a sleepover!”

Remus flashed that blinding, carefree smile again. “Okay! But, fair warning: I sleep naked.”

Patton leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, “Can I tell you a secret?”

Remus whispered back, “Only if you want it not to be a secret anymore.”

Oh. Right. Well, it was good that he was upfront about his limitations.

Did Patton really care if the others found out? What was the worst that could happen if everyone else knew? They’d think it was gross? Would it really be so bad if they did?

Patton leaned even closer to whisper, “Sometimes, I sleep naked too.”

It would be worth it if anyone found out, just for the look of delight that lit up Remus’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to anyone that got the Shakespeare and _The Outsiders_ references. 
> 
> If you're curious, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNmxS46YAgg) is was my inspiration for Remus's lullaby.
> 
> The _amazing_ alicat54c made me stunningly gorgeous fanart of this chapter! Check them out on [Tumblr](https://thereibi-art.tumblr.com/) or [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/pseuds/alicat54c)  
> 


	6. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has a bad day before returning to the Imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter include: graphic description on a badly broken bone, a very brief body horror-y passing thought.
> 
> Just a heads up, Friends, there won't be a new chapter next week, but I'll be back to the normal schedule the week after! (October 18th.)
> 
> Make sure to check out the end notes for a little bonus!
> 
> As always, my thanks go to my betas, parallellmonsoon and beauty-and-passion, and the TSS Fanworks Collective for being the best Discord server a writer could ever hope for.
> 
> Also [alicat54c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/pseuds/alicat54c) drew some stunningly gorgeous art for my last chapter, please go marvel at it [here!](https://thereibi-art.tumblr.com/post/630476260246700032/my-dearest-goldenmeme-that-fic-you-wrote-broke-my)

Thomas spent the next morning trying to reshoot yesterday’s video, though it may have been more accurate to say he spent the morning trying-to-try-to reshoot yesterday’s video. An hour and a half after he finally buckled down to start filming all he’d managed to do was watch a frankly embarrassing amount of She-Ra animatics on his phone.

With the reshoot a non-starter, he reviewed the footage he already had in the vain hope that overnight it had somehow become less cringeworthy. In the light of a new day it was… fine. Not good, but fine. Now that he really thought about it, the entire concept was kind of meh. He half-heartedly tried editing the existing footage, but the entire thing just seemed too bland and uninspired. His heart wasn’t in it, and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t make any headway.

By noon he decided to scrap the video all together. It was a stupid idea; he didn’t know why he’d initially been so excited about it. Anyway, he already had five or six other video ideas that would be way better. The hardest part would be figuring out which one he wanted to do first.

His afternoon was filled with meetings with the crew, so after lunch he finally had to put on his big boy pants and venture out of his apartment. A line at the Starbucks meant he was ten minutes late for his first meeting, so when he rushed through the workspace doors and crashed down on the couch, Davi shot him a _look_.

“What,” he said

“Nothing.”

“ _What?_ ” he demanded.

“ _Nothing!_ Jeeze…”

Quil said, “You okay there, Thomas?”

He did _not_ have the patience for whatever their problem was, so he just said, “Look we’re already behind schedule, so let’s just start the meeting.”

Maybe it was a full moon or Mercury was in lemonade or something, because it just went downhill from there. Quil and Davi spent the entire rest of the meeting throwing him passive-aggressive looks when he wasn’t looking. After that, his Zoom meeting with Lev was _useless_ ; Lev shot down every one of Thomas’s ideas, saying they were ‘ _too ambitious_ ’ or ‘ _outside of his technical capabilities_ ’ or something, like he just couldn’t be bothered to _learn_ how to do all that stuff to make Thomas’s visions realities. Next, Joan got mad at him for scrapping that crappy video because they’ve both made a vow—a triple dog no takesie backsies _double_ pinkie swear—that they would actually, for real, for once, stick to a regular posting schedule, and they needed a video in a week. Thomas thought Joan was overreacting, Joan thought Thomas was underreacting, there was a mutual agreement to walk away for five minutes. Five minutes later they agreed to move the meeting to the next day to give them both time to cool down—although Thomas was already totally cool. Joan was the one with the problem.

Thomas loved the amazing people that made his videos possible, but the amazing people that made his videos possible needed to get over whatever their collective problem was, _real_ fast.

On the way home he swung by his parent’s house, thinking a nice Mom Hug would wash the awful feelings leftover from the night before away and brighten his otherwise crummy day. When he got there, the only one home was his little brother. He should have called ahead, but his parents never went out on a weeknight. Except today when he really needed them, apparently.

He did get a hug from his brother, but it just wasn’t the same.

It was dark out by the time he got home, and guilt about leaving his Sides stranded and waiting for him the entire day had settled into his bones. He didn’t even bother to change into his comfy pants, just kicked off his shoes, dropped onto the couch, and sunk into his Imagination.

He opened his eyes to bright morning sun slanting rays through the trees and Roman’s castle still looming surreal on the horizon. The campsite was still set up, the dredges of a fire smoldering in the pit. Remus was sitting crisscross applesauce in the dirt, knees butted against the rocks that edged the fire pit, poking the embers with a stick. Logan was sitting on the log bench behind Remus, the only other Side Thomas could see.

As Thomas rose up, Logan was saying, “… eleven hundred degrees Fahrenheit for three hours, but even then—Ah, good morning Thomas.”

“Good… morning?” Dew glimmered on the sloped canopies of the tents, the air brisk and damp. “That’s weird. It’s night in the real world right now.”

Remus said, “Time is an illusion and I’m holding this realm together with a precarious balance of spite and apathy.”

Logan said, “You can hardly expect accurate nychthemeron cycles from him, Thomas.”

Thomas didn’t even know what that word meant. “I… guess not. Where is everybody?”

Logan said, “Still in the tents. I believe Virgil and Janus intend to delay socialization for as long as reasonable. Patton is attempting to coax Virgil out.”

Remus said, “And Logan’s telling me how to burn a body!”

“Indeed. As I was saying, fire is not an efficient way to dispose of human remains. A far better method would be—”

“ _Logan_.”.

“Yes, Thomas?”

From any other Side, that guileless expression would have been a ruse, but Logan honestly didn’t see the harm in telling the most murder-happy member of their group the best was to dispose of a body.

One of the tent flaps rustled and Patton backed out, butt first, saying, “Okay, kiddo, whenever you’re ready we’d love to see your smiling face! Oh, good morning Thomas! Virgil, look, Thomas is back! Ah—he put his headphones on, he can’t hear me.”

Patton turned to smile sunnily at all of them. “What are we talking about?”

Instead of responding, Logan said, “Remus, are you familiar with _Usnea Longissima_?”

“No, but if you hum a few bars I’ll fake it.”

Logan stood, brushed off his slacks, and said, “It’s not a song. It is a species of lichen. I believe we passed some not far from here last night, and I think you’ll enjoy certain amusing properties of it. Come.” He turned and started walking off beyond the tents without bothering to make sure Remus was following.

Remus scrambled to his feet and scuttled after him.

Thomas watched them go, wary of any of them wandering out of sight, but they stopped at a large old tree only a few dozen yards beyond the camp. Its branches dripped with stringy strands of something that reminded Thomas of thick cobwebs. They were too far away for Thomas to hear anything beyond the shapeless tones of Logan’s lecture voice, but at least whatever he was saying was holding the Duke’s attention for the time being.

It was weirdly nice to see them getting along.

Patton wrapped his arms around Thomas from behind, pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, then stepped over the log bench to sit next to him, their hips snugged up against each other.

“Hi I love you!” Patton greeted.

“Hi,” Thomas said, returning Patton’s brilliant smile, always happy to see him in an even sunnier mood than usual. “I love you too. What’s up?”

“Would you ask Virgil to be your buddy today?”

“Uh. Sure. Why?”

“Well, I’d really like to spend some time with Remus, but I’m afraid Virgil will take it wrong, so if you ask Virgil first it won’t look like I’m picking Remus over him!”

Sometimes Patton created complicated hoops for himself to jump through, to avoid potentially hurting anyone’s feelings. It could get a little Machiavellian, but it always came from the right place. Virgil would _definitely_ read too much into it if Patton asked Remus to be his buddy instead of Virgil.

“Okay. But, uh… really? You want to spend time with Remus? _That_ Remus?”

He gestured toward Remus, who was now hurling rocks into the tree branches directly above his head, apparently in an attempt to knock loose the thready moss dripping from their branches. It was exactly the kind of reckless behavior that would normally send Logan into fits of rabid safety lectures, but instead he was just calmly observing from a safe distance. Maybe he didn’t care about the Duke’s safety.

Patton said, “You should really give him a chance, Thomas! He may have some… _rough_ patches, on the surface, but if we take the time to look beneath that, I think we might find that he has a good heart.”

“If he does, he probably stole it from someone else.”

Patton’s eyes narrowed.

Patton’s eyes narrowed?

_Wait._

Thomas knew that look. That was Patton’s _what-did-you-say-about-my-son_ glower.

_What?_

“Patton,” Thomas said with mounting dread, “did you adopt Remus while I was gone?”

Patton pressed his knuckles to his mouth and nodded.

“ _Why?_ ”

“ _I don’t know!_ I just think he deserves a chance! We started talking and he’s actually really thoughtful and I can’t even imagine how awful it must have been for him to be cut off from you all those years—I get a little upset if you don’t acknowledge me for more than a couple _minutes_ and he’s been repressed for _decades_ —and he’s trying so hard to be good and he played us all a lullaby that wasn’t about dead babies and made me realize that worms are actually just squirmy puppies in turtlenecks and now I just want to smoosh his little face and tell him he’s doing a good job!”

He sucked in a gulping breath, because he’d delivered that entire monologue in one unbroken stream.

Thomas didn’t even know how to begin responding to that. “Patton, that was… an entire _airport_ worth of baggage I have to unpack now. Worms?”

Patton nodded, eyes huge, and whispered, “ _They’re wormderful_.”

Remus ran back into the campsite, glee smeared across his face and both arms overflowing with a mass of the stringy moss he’d been knocking off the trees. Without preamble he tossed the entire bundle onto the dying embers of the fire pit. The massive pile caught and burned so quickly it seemed to melt, like cotton candy in a puddle, leaving behind only a skeleton of smoldering fibers, a network of squirming strands that writhed and glowed like thousands of demonic maggots. The spectacle lasted no more than five seconds before the entire mass had burned itself into a gnarled black knot the size of a tennis ball and began flaking into ash.

Remus made a high sound made entirely of n’s, and looked to Patton to share his delight.

Patton happily obliged. “Wow, that’s so neat, kiddo!”

“Curiosity,” Logan called from somewhere beyond the camp. Remus’s head snapped in his direction. “I think you’ll find this quite intriguing; come look.”

Remus ran off again, as eager as a toddler on a playground.

Yup, nope, Thomas was definitely starting to feel the first sprouting buds of what seemed likely to eventually grow into fondness.

For Pete’s sake.

“Why are you doing this to me, Patton?”

“Don’t blame me for the fact that even the darkest parts of you are worthy of love and acceptance, Thomas.”

Thomas didn’t _want to_ accept Remus though. Remus was gross. He was violent and lascivious and disgusting, and the only thing he’d ever done for Thomas was make him think he might secretly be a psychopath. Remus might _actually be_ a psychopath. Not to mention the fact that he was just… he was _weird!_

Logan’s voice was lecturing from somewhere beyond the tents, “— _hydnellum peckii,_ known colloquially as a Bleeding Tooth Mushroom, for reasons I’m certain you can ascertain. Oh _no don’t_ —” his voice flatlined, “… eat it.”

Remus said, eagerly, “Am I going to die now?”

“No, they’re just overwhelmingly bitter.”

“Aw. Yeah.” He made a sound like a cat retching.

He was _so weird_.

Thomas kind of wanted to smoosh his little face.

Very calmly, Thomas said, “I am so mad at you right now.”

Patton said, “I _know_ , I’m _sorry_ , I can’t help it!”

“I know. I still love you.”

The flap of Virgil’s tent shifted, and wary eyes peered out from the darkness within. When he only saw Patton and Thomas, Virgil inched out a little more.

Thomas raised his voice to be heard across the campsite. “Hey Virgil, would you be my buddy today?”

For a moment it looked like he was going to retreat right back into the tent, but instead he said, “Uh… Sure. Whatever.” The surly, disaffected act was not strong enough to fully disguise the pleased tilt of his lips.

Thomas wanted to smoosh his face, too, but that had been a common urge with Virgil for years now.

He pitched his voice for Patton’s ears only when he said, “Hey, no more emotionally adopting Dark Sides without discussing it with me first, okay?”

“Now Thomas, you know it’s wrong to make promises we might not be able to keep.”

Thomas sighed. “Fair enough.”

.

When Janus emerged from his tent not long after that they set off, Remus vanishing the campsite as effortlessly as he’d created it. Neither Logan nor Janus made a fuss about being stuck as buddies by default, though Thomas suspected that had more to do with the fact that neither would try to initiate hand-holding than out of a desire to care for the other’s wellbeing.

In the light of day Roman’s castle seemed closer than Thomas remembered it being the night before, though still immeasurably distant. It was hard to fathom traveling that far by foot. He didn’t actually know how far a person could walk in one day, and even if he did it seemed like none of the rules applied in the imagination, so all he could do was hope that they’d get there by the time he had to go to bed that night.

The forest air was cooler than it had been the day before, the leaves on the deciduous trees just beginning to shade into yellows and oranges, as if the season had changed overnight. What had been overwhelming, vibrant green the day before was now turning comforting earth tones, the kind of crispness in the air that made him think fondly of warm cocoa and cozy scarves more than it chilled him.

Remus was even more energetic with Patton as a captive audience, dragging him around by the hand to point out this or that, keeping up a constant running commentary on whatever popped into his head. They seemed to be teetering around a precarious equilibrium, with Patton no longer cringing at every less-than-pure thing that came out of Remus’s mouth, and Remus bounding head-first into a new topic whenever it seemed like Patton was getting too overwhelmed.

As surreal as it was for them to be getting along, seeing them both so thrilled to have made a new friend was doing uncomfortably warm things to Thomas’s heart.

His buddy did not seem to feel the same way.

Holding Virgil’s hand was starting to feel like holding hands with a fog bank. He hadn’t said anything since they’d left camp, but Thomas could practically feel the dark clouds gathering thicker and thicker every time Patton giggled at something Remus said, chilled gloom radiating from him like an open freezer door.

At some point Thomas had to say something. “You holding up okay, Virge?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted.

When the silence stretched between them long enough that it became clear he wasn’t going to offer anything else, Thomas continued, “I know this isn’t exactly your dream family vacation, but I’m really glad you came.”

Virgil looked him up and down, disbelief tinting his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I just thought maybe…”

Apparently, that was all he had to say about that, because he didn’t continue.

It wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since the whole ‘ _I used to be a Dark Side_ ’ revelation. Thomas still didn’t even really know what that meant, precisely, but it certainly seemed to matter to Virgil.

They were taking up the rear of their party, with Logan and Janus far enough ahead to afford them at least a little privacy as long as they didn’t talk too loudly.

Thomas said, “You know I don’t care that you used to be a Dark Side, right?”

“Right. Because apparently you _love_ Dark Sides now.”

Thomas gave Virgil’s hand a couple squeezes. “Well, I gave one a chance once and it turned out to be a fantastic decision, sooo…”

Virgil glared at him from the corner of his eye, annoyed and flattered, and maybe annoyed about being flattered.

Thomas said, “Come on, talk to me, Virge. Why do you hate them so much?”

“Why do I… _because!_ Remus doesn’t care about you, and Janus _only_ cares about you!” He cut himself off to force his voice back to a murmur, so their conversation wouldn’t draw attention. “Janus would kill everyone else on Earth if it would make you happy, and Remus would kill everyone on Earth _and you, for fun_.”

“Okay... well… Bright side: Janus killing people wouldn’t make me happy, so at least we can cross that concern off the list.”

“That’s my point! He doesn’t _know_ what you want, just what _he thinks_ is best for you, and he’ll do _literally anything_ to get it. And Remus’s only motivation in life is and always has been to fuck as much shit up much as possible, then light himself on fire before he has to face any consequences.”

Thomas glanced at Remus, who currently had Patton’s fingers twined in one hand and the other frenetically poking his shoulder, grabbing his elbow, just generally taking any and all opportunities to touch now that he had permission. Patton had always been by far the most tactile of all of Thomas’s sides, but it seemed he’d met an equal in Remus.

Thomas said, “Not that I’m disagreeing with you. But do you think there might be a chance you’re magnifying? Just a little?”

“You don’t know him, Thomas. I do. Yeah, he’s behaving right now, but it’s just to get what he wants from you.”

“What do you think he wants from me?”

“To trick you into actually doing some of his stupid shit he thinks up. All he’s ever wanted was for you to listen to his terrible ideas.”

Patton had mentioned something like that earlier, too. That Remus had never been listened to. That seemed pretty fair, honestly; the few ideas he _had_ heard from Remus had not exactly been the kind of thing he wanted to hear more about. Still…

“I thought you said all he’s ever wanted was to mess up as much stuff as possible?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Virgil huffed, like he didn’t see the difference.

On the one hand, what Virgil was saying _did_ kind of track with Thomas’s own experience of Remus. On the other hand… “Patton thinks it’s worth giving him a chance.”

“Well, Patton doesn’t always think with his head.”

That was… not untrue. But sometimes his heart _did_ make better decisions than his head. Or—maybe not _better_ , but decisions that ultimately made Thomas happier. “I mean… what harm could giving him a chance do?”

Virgil stared at him like he’d just said he wanted to start robbing strangers at gunpoint or something. He couldn’t seem to find the words to express the force of his incredulousness, floundering, “Look… Remus… he… _okay_. Do you remember when you broke your arm?”

Thomas had only ever broken one bone in his life, but he had no idea what that could have to do with this conversation. “When I fell off the kitchen counter? When I was like eight?”

“Yeah. You know he’s why that happened?”

“What? You guys weren’t even around back then.”

“No we were, you just couldn’t see us. You climbed up on the counter because Remus wanted to see what your mom had hidden on top of the cupboard.” Thomas didn’t remember that—the memory of why he’d been up there had been overwritten by the pain and fear of the aftermath. “I kept telling him it was dangerous, but he said it would be fine. I trusted him, like an idiot. I let you climb up there and you fell. You broke your arm and if you’d landed differently you could have broken your spine instead, or cracked your skull open and _died_ —”

“ _Hey_ ,” Thomas said, interrupting Virgil’s panic spiral before it could turn into a full-on panic vortex. “I’m okay, see? Not dead, all healed up from that injury that happened when I was eight.” He waggled his fully healed arm and tried to consciously relax the muscles that always knotted up whenever Virgil worked himself up like that.

Virgil blew out a long breath, and another. When he’d steadied himself enough to continue, the panic in his voice had been replaced with contempt. “He didn’t even _care_ that you got hurt. He just thought it was cool that you could see the bone poking through your arm.”

Yeah, Thomas definitely remembered that part. The bone hadn’t quite broken skin, but he could see it pushing against his arm from the inside, a weird knob halfway down an unnaturally crooked forearm. It had been grotesquely fascinating enough to distract him from the pain for almost the entire car ride to the hospital, but he’d had nightmares about his skeleton trying to climb out of his skin for _years_ after.

Virgil said, “Pain doesn’t mean anything to Remus as long as he can satisfy his twisted curiosity. If you give him a chance he’ll use it to do a lot more than break your arm this time.”

Okay, that definitely sounded like magnifying to Thomas. “You really don’t think there’s _any_ possible way he might have changed?”

“I mean, yeah, he might have, but even if Patton is right and he can be trusted _now_ , as soon as we’re done here he’s going to change right back into the same jerk he’s always been. It’d just be stupid to get attached now.”

Right. Yeah. Really stupid.

Thomas nearly walked right into Logan, he was paying so little attention to where they were going.

They’d come to what, at first glance, Thomas thought was an open field. The trees cut off abruptly, giving way to an expanse of grass that gradually transitioned into dirt. As they got closer, the dirt gave way to a jagged gash in the scenery, and the vast river raging below came into view.

The cliff was only maybe twenty feet straight down, crumbling soil so loose Thomas would have been afraid to get close to the edge even if Virgil didn’t suddenly have a double-fisted death grip on his hand. Remus, of course, shook off Patton’s hand and ran up to the edge straight away, leaning too far over it, clumps of dirt breaking off under his toes and tumbling into the water below.

The river at the bottom was vast and violent, sharp rocks shredding the water white, the staticky roar of it dulling out every other forest sound. It stretched as far in either direction as Thomas could see, and maybe a hundred yards across, without a single break or bridge in sight.

It was, as far as Thomas could tell, uncrossable. And Roman’s castle was on the other side.

Thomas said, “This seems… not good. What do we do now?”

Remus threw back his head and let out a melodramatically petulant groan.

“Creative block,” he said. “Son of a fuck. Hang on.” He threw his head back and shouted, seemingly toward the Heavens, “ _Get your fluffy ass out here, Romulus!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um sorry to leave it there. I'll be away next week, so please join me again on the 18th for the next new chapter. (Or come chat with me about it on Tumblr before that! I'm very friendly.) I know the fandom's typical take on Romulus is him being pre-split Creativity, so I hope you don't mind that I'm taking him in a _completely_ different direction.
> 
>  **This week's chapter comes with a bonus ficlet!** I wrote a little flashback to the broken arm incident Virgil mentions, but it didn't fit in the fic, so I posted it separately. Contains 8-year-olds Remus and Virgil, and both of them experiencing a very formative moment in their development. [Go read it here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822926)


	7. Romulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overcoming creative blocks is hard, guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains no warnings.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and encouragement! Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. I'm back on my normal schedule, so join me again next Sunday!
> 
> Huge thanks to my wonderful betas ParallelMonsoon, Beauty-and-Passion, and my special guest beta alicat54c. And to the TSS Fanworks Collective for just generally keeping me inspired!

“Romulus?” Thomas said. “Who is Romulus? Another side?”

Remus said, “Yeah,” at the same time Janus said, “No.”

Logan said, “In a way. Romulus is—”

A shadow launched itself out of the dirt and slammed against Remus’s chest, knocking him backward away from the cliff edge. He landed hard on his back, the dark creature looming above him, a snarl jolting out of it at the impact. It was massive and four-legged, and when it snarled again, Remus batted at it and said, exasperated, “ _Get off!_ ”

No one else seemed to be worried about the massive dog about to maul Remus.

Well, maybe not maul. The dog had Remus’s entire face engulfed in its enormous toothy maw, but wasn’t biting down, just kind of… gently nomming.

Remus said, “What the fuck, you whore!” into the dog’s open mouth.

Logan said, “That is Romulus.”

He was a gorgeous dog. Wolf? Maybe wolf. His salt-and-pepper coat transitioned to black around his face and legs. He looked like the dog version of a teenager, legs still gangly and ears too big for his head. When Remus tried to push him off again, Romulus gave a grumbling bark and snapped at the air next to Remus’s face. Remus growled back with just as much teeth, the aggressive sound tinged with delight as he lurched and rolled, wrestling the wolf in the dirt. They scrabbled and snapped at each other, the tussling equal parts brutish and playful.

Thomas said, “I have a _puppy side?_ ”

Logan said, “No… _well_ —”

Romulus jerked to attention at the sound of Thomas’s voice, and the moment he recognized Thomas he launched himself off Remus’s chest to bolt toward him, yipping and braying with excitement. Thomas tried to brace himself for the impact of massive puppy paws on his shoulders, but he still almost went down when Romulus’s full weight hit him.

Romulus was big enough to easily reach Thomas’s face with his paws on Thomas’s shoulders, and he shamelessly exploited that height to lick across Thomas’s entire face, still whimpering excitedly, entire body swaying with the force of his beating tail.

Thomas screwed his eyes shut and blissfully accepted the kisses, cooing, “ _Hiiii_ I love you too! Are you my Good Boy Side? I always hoped I had one, and you’re more beautiful than I could ever imagine!”

He was even more striking up close, with a thick, silky coat and mismatched eyes—one solid, deep, inky black and the other a haunting opalescent blue, as milky and nacreous as a moonstone.

Logan said, “Romulus is not a Side. He is simply a Function.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Thomas said, scratching his new most favoritest good boy ever around the ears as Romulus continued to lave Thomas’s cheeks with drooly puppy affection.

Romulus launched himself off Thomas’s shoulders to run in a tight circle around his feet, so excited that kisses alone couldn’t burn off enough energy, still whimpering joyously. He rolled onto his back to show off his white belly only to immediately hop back up, bounce his forepaws off Thomas’s thigh, and run around in another circle.

As the joyous performance continued, Logan explained, “We—your _true_ Sides—all encompass multiple aspects of your personality. We do not however encompass _all_ of your personality. There are dozens of stray, singular Functions, like Romulus, who aren’t multi-faceted enough to form a fully cognizant being, but who are nonetheless essential parts of you.”

“Are they all puppies?” Thomas asked. He gasped. “ _How many puppies do I have in me?_ ”

Logan blinked at him, twice, but let it go. “Not necessarily ‘ _puppies_ ,’ but they aren’t complex enough to maintain humanoid form, so they tend to manifest as animals. Romulus represents…” He wavered a bit, searching for the right word, and settled on, “emotional vulnerability.”

“Aww, Vulnerability?” Thomas said. When Romulus flopped onto his back again, Thomas knelt to give him tummy rubs for being a good Side. Function. Whatever. “Phew, for a second there I was worried you were going to tell me I just did that cutesy I-love-you-good-boy thing to my Asshole Side or something.”

Virgil muttered, “No, your Asshole Side has been with us since we started.”

Remus, still sprawled in the dirt where Romulus had left him, threw Virgil a saucy wink and said, “Flirt.”

Virgil looked like he’d been hit in the face with a dirty sock.

Romulus had apparently greeted Thomas thoroughly enough, because he hopped up, ran over to briefly chomp on Remus’s face again, and quickly moved on to Logan, still full of that frantic energy.

Logan offered a hand, which Romulus slapped one oversized puppy paw into, and they shared a solemn handshake.

Patton, who was unfortunately standing furthest away from Romulus, squeaked.

Romulus moved on to Janus next, who took a couple hasty steps backward, making subtle shooing motions at hip height. Romulus collapsed onto his belly and barked playfully, poised to pounce.

Janus said, “Yes, wonderful, hello to you too. Don’t you think you should put Patton out of his misery?”

Romulus darted toward Virgil instead—Patton made a sound like air leaking out of a balloon—and circled twice around his legs before plopping into a Sit in front of him, tail thunking audibly on the hard ground.

Virgil said, “Hey, Buddy,” and knelt to scratch at the shaggy patch of white fur under his sternum.

Thomas said, “Why is Vulnerability here?”

Remus said, “He’s the only one who can get us across the river.” He levered himself back onto his feet, not bothering to brush the dirt off. “Also he’s the bitch that put it in our way. He only ever gives Roman creative blocks, though; I don’t know what crawled up his butthole today.”

“ _He’s_ responsible for my creative blocks?” Thomas said.

“Some of them.”

Thomas tried to reconcile the gangly wolf pup with one of the greatest banes of his professional existence. But Romulus was sitting so patiently while Virgil pet him, a dopey, tongue-lolling smile on his doofy, fuzzy face. There was literally no possible way to stay mad at that.

“What does Vulnerability have to do with creative blocks?”

“Lots of stuff!” Remus said. “Art’s all about putting all your squishiest, ugliest, most sensitive bits out there for _eeeeeverybody_ to look at. Even the fluffiest bullshit you’ve ever made had a vulnerable little piece of you in it.”

With false bravado, Thomas said, “I don’t know, I’ve made some _pre-tty_ fluffy bullshit in my time.” He definitely had works he’d poured his entire heart and soul into, but for every one of those there was a _My Humps_ Vine that he hadn’t put anything other than a couple ostentatious vocal runs into.

Patton said, “But you care about all of it! Even if you think it’s a little silly now, you cared when you made it.”

Well, that was true...

Virgil added, “If you didn’t, it wouldn’t bother you to know that people can still go back and judge you for it.”

Oh no, that _did_ bother him…

Remus said, “Creating anything comes with the knowledge that sometimes people are going to _hate_ that thing. And you, or at least whatever raw, gooey piece of you you put into that thing. But without it, whatever trash you end up making will have all the emotional depth of a recycled Troom Troom lifehack video. When Roman wimps out and won’t put anything important into his creations, Romulus makes sure he can’t create _anything_.”

Romulus finally stood and trotted over to Patton, who immediately fell to his knees with a reverent sound and threw his arms around Romulus, face buried in his lush mane.

It was hard to tell who was more excited to see the other: Patton or Romulus. Romulus frantically licked at Patton’s face, and Patton tipped over until he was curled up in the dirt, giggling madly as Romulus playfully attacked him from all angles, both of them wiggling and elated by the other’s company.

Logan said, “Only Roman? Romulus doesn’t block you?”

Remus said, “Nah, I don’t give a fuck what people think of my ugly bits. I’ll put it all out there any time, any place, whether anybody wants me to or not. Anyway, it’s not like Romulus’s blocks are hard to overcome. You just have to admit a deep, personal secret with the potential to emotionally devastate you if it’s treated indelicately, and he’ll take you right across!”

Janus said, “Ah, yes, so simple. It’s a mystery why Roman would find that a challenging hurdle to overcome.”

“Right?” Remus said, oblivious to the sarcasm. “You just say the thing you’re thinking! How hard is that? I do it all the time!”

Romulus hopped up—Patton made a sound of immense loss—and trotted over to circle Remus’s legs before sitting and gazing raptly up at him, tail etching a semicircle in the dirt.

Thomas said, “So, if he only makes blocks for Roman, why is there one here now?”

Remus shrugged. “I’unno. Does one of you have a deepity darkity dirty little secret you’d like to share with the class so we can get a move on?”

Everyone glanced at each other uncomfortably. Except Janus, who looked like he was trying to be cool about the fact that this had suddenly turned into the greatest day of his life.

Awkward silence stretched between them.

Thomas sighed. “Okay, well, I guess this is probably on me since this is kind of… my mind. Okay, uh, something vulnerable… oh! I got into a fight with Joan today.” Patton made a concerned sound, but Thomas pressed on before he could interrupt. “I think I may have been a jerk to them but at the same time I still kind of think I was right and they were overreacting. Now I can’t figure out how to apologize because I’m only sorry that they’re mad, and not for anything I actually did, and that kind of apology is a cop-out but I really don’t want them to be mad at me anymore.”

“That’s,” Patton said, pointing finger bobbing irregularly with the force of all the input he clearly wanted to give. He was obviously struggling to contain it all. “That’s… we’re going to have a talk about that later, okay?”

“Yup,” Thomas said. He’d already expected to talk it through with Patton at some point, but they had more important issues to tackle right that moment. “Is that the kind of thing you’re looking for, Romulus?”

Apparently not; Romulus just leaned down to gnaw briefly at one paw, then went back to gazing up at Remus like a loyal dog to his master.

Everyone eyed each other apprehensively.

“I’ll go!” Patton offered. An almost tangible whoosh of relief swept through the rest of the group. “Gosh, where to even start? Uuuhhhhhh… okay! Lately I’ve been thinking about my privilege and some… _not very nice_ mistakes I’ve made in the past, and all I want to do is make them right, except I already made them wrong, and it’s _really_ hard for me to accept that even making up for it now can’t ever make the past wrong things right, uh… Logan, what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Retroactively,” Logan said.

“Retrodactyly,” Patton parroted.

Logan started to say _no_ , but gave up even before the _n_ fully formed.

Patton looked hopefully to Romulus, who did nothing in response.

“No?” Patton said. “No, okay, I have another! I miss Roman so much, but I’ve had such a nice time getting to know Remus today that I’m going to be a little sad when we find Roman and they switch back.”

“Aw,” Remus said. “I’ll be happy to haunt your nightmares even after we’re done here, Don’t Worry Be Pappy.”

“Oh,” Patton said, apparently only now realizing what exactly he’d just invited upon himself. “O-kay… um. Romulus, was that good?”

Instead of responding, Romulus laid down.

Patton said, “Whelp! I tried!” and smiled expectantly all the remaining contenders.

When none of them offered anything, Logan finally said, “We can obviously cross me off the list. I, like Remus, lack vulnerability by nature.”

Remus let out a companionable little hoot, while Virgil scoffed and Patton chided, “ _Lo-gan_.”

“It’s true,” Logan insisted. “To be vulnerable one must expose one’s emotions. No emotions, no vulnerability. No culpability in this situation.”

Yikes.

Thomas tried to be gentle when he said, “Logan, you know we won’t judge you for having emotions. If anything, talking about them will help us all understand you better.” Logan continued to look dubious, so Thomas tried a different tactic. “And sometimes it’s the most _practical_ thing to do, like right now, when talking about it might help us get across the river.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated that Thomas was now using practicality against him. But he begrudgingly considered it, then seemed annoyed by the conclusion that he came to. “ _Fine_ , if it will help us overcome this block, I suppose I can admit that… I once… had… _a feeling._ ”

He winced, like the confession had physically pained him.

“What feeling?” Patton pressed, as enraptured as a child listening to a bedtime story.

“Frustration,” Logan said.

“Oo, that one’s a doozy! Logan that was really good and I’m proud that you were brave enough to admit that.”

“Well,” Logan said, mouth twitching and eyes downcast, “it was necessary. Romulus, I expect that was a satisfactory display of vulnerability.”

Romulus yawned hugely and laid his chin on his paws.

Too primly, Logan said, “Apparently not.”

Virgil tentatively raised one sleeve-covered hand up, shoulder-height. “Okay um. Sorry guys, but I think this might be on me…”

He looked horrified to suddenly have everyone’s full attention.

Despite this, he pressed on. “So uh… _god,_ this is the actual worst. Okay. One of the reasons I’m… _against…_ Janus and Remus getting accepted… I kind of…” The next sentence was said in a rush, “I was a giant dick when we were all friends and I’m afraid that if I start hanging out with them I’ll turn back into that guy and _I don’t want to be Paranoia anymore._ ”

It wasn’t the first time Thomas had heard the word _paranoia_ used to describe Virgil, but it was the first confirmation that it was more than just a description.

In the brief silence that followed the confession, Virgil looked like he was thinking about making a break for the cliff edge to escape all the attention.

“Aw, Virgil…” Patton said.

Thomas said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Virge. You’re not going to just lose all the progress you’ve made over the past few years just because of who you spend time with.”

Virgil looked skeptical.

Remus added, “Anyway, I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to be Paranoia again. I liked Paranoia. Paranoia was a sassy bitch.”

“Well, that bar is not high,” Virgil said. “You like everybody.”

“Yeah. Everybody except Nazis.”

Wow, apparently there wasn’t a single part of Thomas that liked Nazis. Not that he didn’t already know that, but confirmation was nice.

Virgil said, “So like… that sucked and I’m pretty embarrassed now. We good, Rom?”

Romulus sat up at the sound of his name, but it didn’t seem like he’d been paying attention to Virgil’s confession.

Virgil said, “Aw, man, I said that for no reason, didn’t I.”

Romulus, uncomprehending of the human words but still obliged to respond, tentatively wagged his tail.

That only left one Side it could be.

Everyone turned to Janus.

“What,” he demanded imperiously. “I may _know_ all of your secrets, but I can’t _tell_ them without permission. Clearly it can’t be me he’s after.”

Logan pointed out, “But Romulus doesn’t require you to tell someone else’s secret. The point is exposing one’s own vulnerability.”

“Which I do not grant myself permission to share and am therefore literally incapable. It’s a paradox we could stay here all day debating, but that wouldn’t get us anywhere. If process of elimination has failed us, perhaps a little reasoning is in order? Who among us seems the most likely intended target for a _creative_ block? Hmm?”

Everyone turned toward Remus, who blinked dumbly at them. “What? Like I said, I’ve got nothing vulnerable to expose. Except my junk, and this prissy proodle always tries to bite it off when I do that. No secrets here.”

Janus said, “Are you certain?”

Remus tilted his head curiously at Janus. Janus gazed back with unnerving acuity.

Remus glanced down at Romulus, who was staring up at him, expectant and intent.

The smile trickled off Remus’s face.

“Fuck you,” he said, and vanished.

“Wha—” Thomas said as Romulus hopped up to sniff at the empty ground where Remus had just been. Remus hadn’t sunk out, just vanished in a blink, as abruptly as Virgil always showed up.

Janus said, “I… totally expected that reaction.”

Patton scolded, “ _Janus_ , what did you say to him?”

“Uh, guys?” Thomas said, because something was happening. Something like a fog was rolling in, engulfing the trees like the rush of a flash flood. Not fog, Thomas realized after a moment, just… _nothing_. The forest was being rapidly overcome by a steady, encroaching vacuity, colorless and indefinite. Virgil took a reflexive step toward Thomas, as if he meant to shield him from the void itself.

“Not to worry,” Janus said, so reassuring it was definitely a bold-faced lie. “It’s perfectly safe for us to be in the Imagination without one of your creative Sides.”

Logan said, “ _Actually_ —”

Patton said, “We still have Romulus!” He clapped to catch Romulus’s attention, and greeted him with open arms when he trotted over. “Right, boy? You’ll keep this reality from collapsing around and taking us with it, won’t you, you precious little vulnerabulldog?”

The void-fog had slowed to a stop, framing the edges of the river in nothingness. It had taken the entire forest, right up to the last needle of the last branch of the last tree, leaving only the narrow strip of cliff they were standing on, the river that still stretched on infinitely, and Roman’s castle, now floating distantly in the void. The strip of land remaining wasn’t especially narrow, but being surrounded by nothingness made it _feel_ dangerously precarious, like he might fall off at any moment even though there was a good twenty feet from the edge.

“Is reality collapsing a thing that might happen?” Thomas said.

Logan said, “It’s… not _likely_ to, as long as Romulus remains with us,” though he looked only about ninety percent confident about the odds.

Patton straightened from the crouch he’d been in to pet Romulus. “Well then I’d better get a move on! You kids hold tight here with Romulus, I’ll go see what’s bothering our bawdy little bundle of bad words. We’ll be back before you can say ‘ _retro doodle!_ ’”

“Retro _active,_ ” Logan said.

“Patton,” Janus said gently. “Not that I’m questioning your expertise in these matters, but I happen to have quite a bit more experience diffusing this particular powder keg. Perhaps it would be better if I spoke to Remus.”

“Oh,” Patton said, eyes wide on his otherwise frozen face. “Okay… if you… say so?” His smile, when he found it, was watered down.

Janus said, "Logan, I expect you can keep order in the meantime and prevent anyone from wandering off?”

Logan said, “If you think I have any sway over them whatsoever then you are far less observant than I have been led to believe.”

“ _Excellent!_ ” Janus said, already knee-deep in the grass and sinking, “I have the _utmost_ faith in you.”

“ _Why?_ ” Logan asked the empty space where he’d been.

Then it was just the four of them. Well, four of them and Romulus. The roar of the river below was strangely muffled now, the void absorbing nearly every sound in a way that somehow sounded exactly like ear congestion feels. Thomas flexed his jaw, but his ears didn’t actually need to pop.

“Well!” Patton said. “I guess there’s nothing to do now except get cozy!” He conjured a massive tan plaid picnic blanket and billowed it out to settle on the ground.

“We’re safe right now, right?” Thomas said. Looking at the void that surrounded them made his eyes ache, but it was hard not to try to make sense of the unknowable nothingness. “Should we, like… go back to my apartment to wait?”

Logan said, “We would have to start over from the beginning if all of us left. It is… _almost_ entirely safe for us to remain here, so long as Romulus remains with us.”

Patton said, “Which he will! Won’t you, good boy? _Who’s a good boy?_ ”

Romulus appeared to have figured out who the good boy was but not how to communicate that _it was him_ , shuffling around with the same vibrating intensity a know-it-all student kept their hand raised in class, waiting to be called on.

Patton settled on the blanket and pat his lap. Romulus didn’t need to be asked twice; he plopped down with his head in Patton’s lap, lolling onto his back with his paws crooked limply in the air. Thomas sat too, close enough to be able take advantage of the exposed belly, and after a moment Virgil and Logan sat as well.

Thomas said, “Why do we need Romulus to keep this place up? You guys can’t?”

Logan said, “Only Creativity can sustain the Imagination.”

“Wait, Romulus is Creativity too?”

“He is the result of the same divide that birthed Remus and Roman, yes. If you think of Roman and Remus two as two halves of a broken whole, Romulus is like… a shard that fractured off in the sundering.”

“Huh. Three Creativities. That seems excessive, even for me.”

Logan said, “If we’re counting Functions, you have more than three. Creativity is an incredibly complex concept, composed of a plethora of disparate elements. Of course, you well know its predominant Sides—Passion and Curiosity—but there are many less essential Functions that fall under the Creativity umbrella, like Vulnerability here.”

Thomas said, “Hang on, I well know who now?”

“Passion and Curiosity. Roman and Remus.”

He’d kind of known one of Roman’s things was Passion, but, “Remus is _what now?_ ”

“Curiosity. Now and for the entirety of his existence. What aspect of Creativity did you think he encompassed?”

“… Bad?”

Logan sighed. “I so look forward to the day you finally internalize the lesson Janus has been attempting to teach you over the past year. Yes, Remus is the conduit for the aspects of creativity that you find uncomfortable, but that’s not _all_ he is. You know the rest of us each perform several functions. Why would you have an entire Side dedicated only to intrusive thoughts and libido?”

“ _He’s my libido too_?“ Thomas breathed. Oh. _Oh_. “Oh, ew. _Ew!_ Oh my god, am I secretly a pervert?”

“No. _Well_ …” There was an unspoken _maybe_ , but apparently Logan had more pressing priorities. “You thought Remus was _only_ Intrusive Thoughts?”

He definitely had. In his defense, he’d never given it any thought, but he really should have learned his lesson after Virgil and Janus that none of them were only one thing, and even what seemed at first like a purely negative trait could become an asset under the right circumstances.

Weakly, he said, “When you say it in that tone of voice it sounds stupid.”

“It is not the tone of voice,” Logan said.

“Oof,” Thomas said. Harsh. Maybe fair. Roman was Thomas’s passion, his whimsy, his ego, romance, ambition, apparently for some reason Thomas’s left arm, and maybe some other things to boot. It didn’t make sense that his twin would only be responsible for one single, minor, inessential function.

Thinking about all the things Roman did for him, Thomas only realized he’d sighed after the fact.

Patton tilted his head in questioning sympathy.

Thomas said, “Nothing, nothing. I just miss Roman.”

“Me too,” Patton said. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I hope so,” Thomas said, because he didn’t want to admit that he didn’t _think_ so.

Romulus made a grumbly dog sound and arched his back petulantly. Thomas patted his haunch until he settled again.

“Do you think we’ll make it to him today?” This delay wasn’t helping, but there seemed to still be plenty of day left. At least, there had been before the sky had disappeared. But the castle was still very, very far away. But maybe that wouldn’t matter in the Imagination. There were too many variables to even make an educated guess.

Ever the optimist, Patton perked up. “Maybe!” He almost immediately perked down again. “Oh, but Remus...”

This time Virgil made a grumbly dog sound.

Thomas said, “Maybe you could… visit him?” He wasn’t really sure how that worked, but if they could get to Roman’s castle then Patton could probably get to Remus’s somehow, right?

Patton said, brightening, “ _Or_ , he could move in with us!”

Logan said, “Absolutely not.”

Virgil said, “No way,” over him.

“That is a terrible idea, Patton.”

“Like the worst idea ever”

“He would wreak havoc on Thomas’s psyche.”

“If he moves to the Light Side, I’m going back to the Dark Side.”

Patton said, cautiously, “Actually I’ve been thinking that maybe we don’t _need_ a Dark Side anymore? With you and Janus back with us it’ll just be Remus over there all on his lonesome, and that doesn’t sound like any fun.”

Virgil and Logan both burst into an almost impenetrable chorus of protests, but Thomas spoke over them. “No, wait, how does this work? Why do I need a Dark and a Light Side? What’s the difference exactly?”

Logan said, “Well, dividing them like that is highly allegorical, but if you’d like to build on that metaphor, you can think of the ‘Dark Side’ like… a barricaded room within your mind. ‘Dark Sides’ occupy the part of your mind you prefer not to acknowledge, for whatever reason. Any time you metaphorically let a Side out of that room and into the ‘Light Side,’ you become increasingly aware of their formerly unconscious influences on you, and with your intentional cooperation they gain a significant amount of conscious influence.”

“So,” Thomas said, “Remus ‘moving’ to the Light Side would mean… he’d have more control over me?”

“His contributions would have more weight,” Logan clarified. “In the case of Remus specifically, should Roman and Janus stop repressing him, he would have far freer access to your conscious thoughts, and far more influence on your emotions and actions.”

As much as Thomas was starting to warm to the new Remus, the thought of the old Remus having more sway over him was still terrifying. “That doesn’t sound… good…”

“Indeed,” Logan said. “I would love to see Curiosity integrated more than anyone, but it’s simply not feasible if he is not in control of his facilities. Giving him free reign while uninhibited would be disastrous for your mental health and, knowing the kind of ideas the Duke conceives, would most likely put your physical health at risk as well.”

Patton’s brow creased and he practically vibrated with how much he’d clearly like to argue, but he didn’t seem to have any solid counters for Logan’s points.

Which seemed fair. Thomas’s first instinct was always to stand up for an underdog, but he obviously didn’t know enough about how any of this worked to try to argue with Logan. He didn’t want Remus to be exiled to the Dark Side all alone, but he didn’t want to put himself—and by extension all of the rest of them—in danger, either.

Patton said, “There has to be some way we can make it safe for him to be with us.”

“You know as well as I do that self-control is a finite resource, in which Thomas is already perilously lacking.”

“Wow, rude,” Thomas said.

Logan ignored him. “For Remus to safely stay with us, Roman would have to remain as he is now.”

Patton made a high-pitched, wavering sound. Romulus raised his head out of Patton’s lap to give the quietest answering, “ _Oo-woooo.”_

Virgil said, “None of this matters anyway. Remus doesn’t _want_ to be a Light Side. He’d rather stay in his disgusting swamp for the rest of his life.”

Grasping at straws, Patton said, “But maybe… this trip will make him see how nice it can be, and he’ll realize he _does_ want to stay with us!”

Logan said, “You should hope that he doesn’t, because—as we’ve _just_ discussed—”

Before he could finish, the air around them shuddered violently, the world shifting in a way that had nothing to do with movement. Thomas’s inner ears clenched with a sudden pressure, like an altitude drop on a plane.

Between one moment and the next the surrounding forest was back, and so were Remus and Janus, standing just beyond the edge of Patton’s blanket.

Romulus lurched up and ran to Remus as Thomas said, “ _Cheese and crackers_ , I’m going to have to bell you guys or something.”

Virgil said, “Please don’t give Remus anything that will let him make _more_ noise.”

The quip struck a sour note; Janus and Remus had clearly not returned in the most light-hearted of spirits. Janus looked concerned, and Remus more somber than Thomas had ever seen him.

Remus pushed Romulus off when he tried to jump up. Instead, he knelt to meet Romulus’s mismatched eyes, grabbed him by the muzzle, and said, “Okay you fucking mongrel, let’s get this over with.”


	8. Said the poor brussel sprout, "If only me and the banana could get out."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Janus talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for this chapter's trigger warnings. Nothing major today, but general warning that Remus does some especially explicit flirting.
> 
> Chapter title from Harry Nilsson's Garbage Can Ballet. If anyone is into playlists, [I made one for this fic!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6o7YF36BA6rKKIbOZlSFE5?si=1UB37uX5Q6W8HUmpC8PJYA)
> 
> As always, thanks to my betas, parallelmonsoon and Beauty-and-Passion, for sorting out my mess.

It was not in Remus's nature to run from a problem. He much preferred to face all his problems head-on, with a mace, until the problem no longer had a head on. It had taken Janus decades of careful manipulation to train Remus how and when to retreat from a situation he didn't want to be in, and even then, he only managed it about a quarter of the time.

Knowing Remus as he did, Janus had assumed he would react to Janus's little jab by contrarily blurting the untruth that had been festering in him since the beginning of their journey. Remus had never kept a secret in his life, even from himself. Janus hadn't expected him to know what to do with one, now that he had it.

But apparently Janus was just too good at his job, and the instinct for self-delusion was strong even in one so unfamiliar with it.

The gentle glow of denial provided the perfect beacon to trace through the mindscape. Remus hadn't gone far, just to one of the infinite pockets of the Imagination.

Janus rose up into a miniature cityscape at night, streetlights twinkling at his toes, the tallest skyscraper only reaching just above his head. It didn’t seem to be modeled after any city in particular, though it had the distinct features of many, with mismatched landmarks dotting the streets. What appeared to have once been the Sydney Opera House had already been reduced to mangled steel and ruin on the water’s edge. To Janus’s left was the Sears Tower, to his right Big Ben. Remus was a few dozen blocks in front of him, currently battering a boxy, mirror-windowed skyscraper with his morningstar. He paused momentarily when Janus rose up, then gave the building another whack, grunting, “ _Fuck off_ ,” on impact.

“Of course,” Janus said.

Tiny people swarmed around his feet, fleeing the giant rampaging through their city. Janus nudged the rioting mass of them with the toe of his shoe, and then they were fleeing from him, too. _Hah._

“ _Fuck_ ,” Remus said again, mace crashing down with each word, “ _off!_ ”

“Oh immediately. I wouldn’t dream of bothering anyone who didn’t actively desire my company.” He leaned against a large, stout building that came up to his hips, crossed his ankles, and idly wondered if it would be too much to summon a delicate teacup from which to pointedly sip.

The building Remus was pummeling buckled, though apparently not enough, because he slammed his morningstar into it once again. The top half tipped and began its slow, inevitable descent. People the size of grains of rice tumbled out of the upper stories to spare themselves a slower death.

Remus said, “Fuck off or I’ll stab you with the Space Needle.”

Janus glanced at the aforementioned landmark, planted near enough to Remus for the threat to be a viable one. Despite its name, it did not seem to be designed for stabbing.

Janus yawned, delicately tapping the tips of his gloved fingers against his top lip.

He ducked the mace flung at his head.

It hurdled clear past him and caught on the Golden Gates Bridge’s suspension cables, snapping several and setting in motion a chain reaction of wires popping with the sound of plucked guitar strings and chunks of bridge falling into the water below. After dangling from the wires for half a moment, the morningstar plunked into the water alongside another patch of bridge.

“Really,” Janus said as Remus cackled.

“I lied,” Remus said. He hadn’t, really; Remus never made threats he wasn’t fully prepared to see through, but more often than not by the time he acted on them he’d already grown bored of the original plan and opted instead to improvise.

Remus raised his hand above his head to pull the morningstar back out of nothingness. It was still dripping from its brief dunk in the water. He turned back to the mirrored building he’d been destroying and took another wide swing at the half that still stood.

Janus said, “Terribly responsible of you, leaving everyone in the Imagination unattended.”

Remus said, “Irresponsible? _Meeeee?_ ” He slapped the back of his own hand. A tiny person had somehow managed to climb onto it, now squashed with no more care than one would use to swat a mosquito. It left a smear, which Remus distractedly wiped off on his rump, saying, “They have Fidon’t. They’ll probably be fine.”

“ _Probably_ ,” Janus said. “Well thank god we can all hang our hats on _probablys_. Have you forgotten that you vowed to keep Thomas safe?”

“He’s safe!” Remus insisted. “I mean if you can’t trust an imaginary wolf to watch your own personal god and half of his anthropomorphic personality traits, who can you trust? Wait, don’t say it, I know: _you_ don’t trust anyone.”

Remus knew him well. Janus had always assumed he knew Remus even better. Remus was unpredictable in the most predictable ways, always complex but never complicated. At the very least, Janus had always been able to understand the motivations behind his actions. Until now.

He sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Why are you helping them, Remus?”

“Sounded like a good time!” he said. He wound his mace over his shoulder like a baseball bat, waggling it a little. “I get to show Thomas around. Hang out with Virgil again. Annoy Roman. All at the same time! Why the _fuck_ wouldn’t I?”

He swung at the Space Needle like it was a t-ball; the large disc at the top shattered messily, but the bulk of it went sailing in a graceful arc toward the water.

Janus said, “Yes, now that you’ve been handed the thing you’ve wanted most your entire existence on a silver platter, why _wouldn’t_ you assist in a quest to immediately return it?”

“I don’t want—” he bit off the knee-jerk denial with a short growl, but the potential lie hung like wisps of smoke around him. He darted a hunted look toward Janus, knowing he’d been caught out, then tried to distract from the slip by wrapping his arms around the remaining base of the Space Needle and prying it from the ground from its very foundations.

Once liberated, he lobbed it at another building and bent to pick his morningstar back up. “All I want is for Thomas to listen to me. Now he does, but only because I _sanitize_ myself for him. You think I wanted _that?_ I feel like I’m drinking bleach every time I hold myself back just because—” his voice pitched high and mocking—“ _Thomas wouldn’t like it_.”

“You like drinking bleach,” Janus pointed out.

Remus faltered, considering that point. He fondly admitted, “It tastes like chemical burns.”

Janus chose his next words carefully. “I suspect… that you like this, too.”

Remus was silent, morningstar still half-cocking to strike but beginning to droop, very slightly.

When a response didn’t come, Janus pressed, “Haven’t you always wanted the ability to frame your ideas in a way Thomas would listen to? Haven’t you wanted to spend time with Virgil without having to worry that any moment you may frighten him away again? To have Logic freely available to answer your every question? To have Morality’s affection?”

That last was, apparently, a step too far: in a single smooth move Remus turned, heaved the mace over his head, and crashed it down on the already decimated mirrored building, miniature scraps of shrapnel flying in every direction. He did it again, and again, until the skyscraper was reduced to a low mass of rubble and tangled beams, miniature shards of glass strewn across the cityscape like specs of glitter.

When his rampage slowed to a stop and he was left staring at his morningstar embedded in the wreckage, Janus lifted a beckoning arm and said, “Come here.”

Remus left his mace where it lay, handle rising crookedly from the debris. When he got to Janus, he thunked his forehead against Janus’s collarbone and stayed there.

Janus scratched at the nape of his neck, gloves a little too clumsy to run his fingers through Remus’s hair quite like he once could. The circle of his arm made his cape into something of a blanket around both of them, tucking Remus away from the world.

It had always been part of Janus’s job, to hide Remus from a world too delicate to withstand his sharp edges.

The silence stretched between them for a long moment before Janus felt it was safe to venture, “ _You know_ … we’re bound to face so very many obstacles on the way to Roman’s castle. I doubt Thomas would notice if we happened to face… a few extra?”

Remus didn’t respond, head still downcast against Janus’s chest, but some subtle shift in him told Janus he was listening.

And so, Janus continued. “Why, a properly executed side quest could delay our arrival by days. Weeks, even. Enough time to allow Thomas to see what an asset you could be. Perhaps even enough time to convince him to reevaluate which aspect of his creativity would best suit a permanent place at his side.”

Remus jerked up to frown at Janus, searching his face with suspicious eyes. “You’re supposed to be Thomas’s self-interest. Not mine.”

“You’re a part of Thomas.”

“Not a good part. I’m a rotting limb.” From anyone else that would be a self-deprecating statement, but there were few things that interested Remus more than necrotic flesh.

Remus spun to lean next to Janus, the building small enough that their shoulders pressed together. Remus leaned even harder against him than the space required. Janus had been, frankly, _thrilled_ to see Remus and Patton taking to each other so quickly, eager to foist his literal cuddle monster off on a figurative one.

Remus said, “You’re part of the Acceptance Squad now; shouldn’t you want Thomas to have—” he made air quotes with only his middle fingers—“’ _Good Creativity_ ’?”

“I want Thomas to have the best Creativity,” Janus said. “I am not convinced that that is Roman.”

Honestly, this little detour with Romulus was exactly the sort of thing Janus had been hoping for. Convincing Patton to open his foolish heart to Remus had been child’s play, and where Patton went so, inevitably, did the rest of them. The only wrench in the works was Remus himself, continuing to insist that he somehow _preferred_ a life without acknowledgment, a slave to his own hazardous impulses.

If the others only realized that Remus truly did wish to stay intact and at their sides, their bleeding hearts would surely kick in and do most of Janus’s work for him. It wouldn’t be easy to convince those simpering softies that Remus was more deserving of the role than their precious Prince Roman, but the foundations for it had been laid and everything was beginning to fall in place.

Everything except Remus.

Remus, who was now gazing at him with an uncomfortably intense expression.

“It’s true,” Janus said. “Roman’s idea of an original video is a video about his struggle to come up with an idea for an original video. Your skillset is objectively better suited for Thomas’s profession.”

“I love you,” Remus said. “Marry me. I want to carry your snake babies and give birth out of my butt like we’re in a weird fanfic.”

“I’ll need a prenuptial agreement,” Janus said.

“You want half my stuff?”

“Eugh, no. I want to _take_ half your stuff.”

“Take it all! What’s mine is yours, my salacious trouser snake.”

Janus hummed, pretending to consider. “It’s just not as appealing if it’s freely given, I’m afraid. The engagement is off.”

“Damn. That’s probably for the best though. As flattering as it is that you want Thomas to have all of _this_ —“ he gestured toward all of himself, with a gentle emphasis on his crotch—“we both know that’s bullshit.”

“You don’t believe you’re the better Creativity?” Janus said. “Passion waits for inspiration to come to him. Curiosity goes out and finds it. Thomas can’t continue to rely on Roman stumbling across inspiration through sheer dumb luck; he needs someone who will actively pursue it. He needs you.”

“No you’re right, Roman is a hack and I’m great. Obviously he isn’t better for Thomas. But he _is_ worse for him.”

His tone of voice suggested that he was delivering the slyest of trump cards, like he wasn’t just reiterating Janus’s argument and his reasoning was so clever Janus couldn’t possibly deny it.

There were times Janus thought the others underestimated Remus’s intelligence.

There were also times he suspected he himself dramatically overestimated it.

Janus rubbed his eyebrow, feeling a headache coming on. “Yes, of course, that makes perfect sense.”

Remus said. “Have you _not_ noticed that Thomas is slowly turning into a flaming bag of dicks?”

“Oh, I see his improved self-confidence as a _delightful bonus!_ Thomas has always been too humble for my liking.”

“That’s what we’re calling it? ‘Improved self-confidence’? If Quil hadn’t stepped in today I think Joan would have bashed Thomas’s brain in with his own MacBook.”

“Joan was being unreasonable,” Janus said piously. “If they don’t like seeing Thomas stand up for himself for a change, well, that’s their problem. Not Thomas’s. Think how much more successful he’ll be. He can pursue exactly what’s best for _him_ , instead of constantly worrying about whether or not his work will benefit _other people_.” He shuddered.

Remus blinked at him, eyes bright with starry adoration. “Wow, you are _such_ a cutthroat _bitch_.”

“How dare you,” Janus said mildly. “Why cut a man’s throat when I can stab him in the back?”

“More blood spatter.”

“We all have our priorities. And I fail to understand yours. Just because Roman makes Thomas a bit—” he fluttered his fingers—“ _brash_ doesn’t mean you aren’t better for him.”

“No, but he’s just going to become more and more of a brashtard the longer Roman stays like this. Uncontrollable hubris? Fine for a YouTuber. Not so great for a friend.”

As loathe as Janus was to admit it—friends were dead weight; what good were they unless they could do something for you?—Thomas’s friends were inarguably essential to his mental health. He was going to need to be able to maintain at least one close friendship to be happy. Ugh, the absolute sap.

“It’s something we can work on,” Janus said. “There are… self-help books. Mindfulness exercises. I don’t know, meditation. I’m _this_ _close_ to—”

“—to getting him to see a therapist,” Remus echoed along with him.

Maybe Janus had made that same prediction once or twice in the past. Just a few times. He definitely hadn’t been _this close_ for nearly ten years.

“ _Point being_ ,” Janus pressed on, “it would be short-sighted to look at the hubris as a deal breaker. It’s a minor inconvenience at best.”

Remus said, “What about guys?”

Janus squinted, truly thrown by the question. “What… about guys?”

“What happens the next time Thomas wants a fresh piece of cake from some artsy softboy? Even _with_ inhibitions Roman already got too fucking intense over dudes. How much worse is that going to get now that he’s the new commissioner of Cuckoo Country? Combine that with his raging forest fire of an ego and the next time Thomas has a date he’s going to propose over appetizers and already be burning the guy’s house down by dessert.”

Oh, dear.

That was indeed an inevitability Janus hadn’t foreseen. He could accept Thomas losing friends, but it seemed unlikely Janus could somehow orchestrate a future in which Thomas’s head was never turned by a pretty boy. There _would_ be men. Roman’s unfiltered impulses _would_ cause Thomas to react inappropriately intensely to them, and then to take their rejection with as little grace as humanly possible when his actions inevitably frightened them off.

Rumors would spread, as they so readily did around anyone in the public eye.

It could alienate fans. Thomas had a reputation as a wholesome soul, and some stalking scandal would irreparably damage how his fans saw him.

It could affect Thomas’s subscriber count.

Thomas could be… _cancelled_.

Oh dear.

Janus understood, now, what Remus had been trying to say earlier: Roman wasn’t better, but he was worse. Roman, when acting as Thomas’s main creative force, was not better for Thomas than Remus was in the same position. However, Roman without inhibitions would be far, _far_ worse than Remus without them.

They had a well-established system, he and Remus. As much as Remus hated being repressed, he knew why it had to be done, and he accepted it. More often than not he kept himself suppressed, submerged in the swampy edges of Thomas’s subconscious like a lurking alligator. But there were plenty of times he railed against it, times he had to be held down with every hand Janus had, clawing wildly against the figurative grip, gasping and cursing and pleading for the freedom they both knew he couldn’t be allowed.

Small wonder, that Remus had never begrudged Janus of his duty. It was a familiar struggle, and one they had both resigned themselves to long ago.

Janus had been working under the assumption that Roman would require no such repression; Thomas’s ego could run as wild as it liked, as far as Janus was concerned. He had neglected to consider that Roman wasn’t merely Thomas’s ego.

It wouldn’t be a familiar struggle with Roman. With Roman it would be constant, vicious war.

“ _Blast_ ,” Janus hissed. “I had _so_ hoped I could avoid repressing Roman, but if he’s going to be that much of a hazard, needs must, I suppose.”

Remus looked at him sideways. Janus could feel the pressure of unsaid words but couldn’t quite identify what they wanted to be. Instead of giving them voice, in a somewhat less mocking tone than he’d used before but the same sing-song cadence, Remus said, “Thomas isn’t going to like that.”

“Frankly, I don’t care what Thomas _likes_.”

“You’re going to get kicked out of the Cool Kid’s Club if anyone finds out you’re still plotting against him.”

“I’m not plotting against him! I’m plotting _for_ him. Just because Roman is the one Thomas thinks he would prefer doesn’t mean Roman is the one he needs. _Someone_ has to look past his foolish sentimentality and advocate for the objectively better choice. Remus, you _are_ the better choice.”

Remus snorted. “Okay Shoulder Devil, I get it. You think I should sit back and let Thomas become the next Logan Paul.”

“ _Oh_ , if he could _only_ have Logan Paul’s numbers…”

Remus threw him the look he got when even he thought Janus was taking things too far. _Was_ he taking things too far? Perhaps. But he’d learned long ago that if he had any hope of getting Thomas to achieve his goals, the best way was to overshoot them.

Instead of pressing the issue, Remus said, “Look, I’ll think about it if you stop using your slutty temptation voice on me.” He laid his head on Janus’s shoulder and twisted until he could blink up at him with huge, soppy puppy eyes. “You know how wet it gets me, and it’s cruel to tease.”

Janus patted him on the side of his stupid, _stupid_ head. “Do,” he said. “Think about it.”

Remus straightened back up and said, breezy, “Okay, sure! I’ll give it a think.”

It was a lie.

Oh, lord, he was going to need _more_ convincing. Janus was going to have to pull out the heavy artillery.

He hadn’t entirely been evading the issue earlier, when he’d told the others he didn’t have permission to share his own secrets. Admitting certain truths was rather like arm wrestling with himself; two opposing forces, both precisely as strong as the other, straining against each other with all their might and neither ever gaining ground. It always felt impossible—hopelessly so—until the moment he remembered that if he gave up, he could allow himself to win.

It was a struggle, but he eventually managed to wrestle some truth out of himself.

“Remus… I don’t want to have to hold you back anymore. Seeing you suffer— _causing_ you to suffer, is an obligation I neither asked for nor relish, and there are few things I want more than to be done with that obligation for good.”

Remus blinked at him for a long moment, satisfyingly gobsmacked by the sentiment.

Then his face screwed up and he said in a high, melodramatic, watery voice, “Aaaaw! _Janus!_ ”

“Don’t belittle me.”

“You _liiiiiiike_ me,” Remus teased, like a taunting schoolyard chant.

“I’d prefer if that sentiment remained compelling subtext,” Janus said.

Remus continued to chant in the same tone, “You don’t want to _toooorture_ me!”

“Truly, the ultimate expression of friendship.”

“Uh, no, casual buddy blowjobs are the ultimate expression of friendship.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I do want you to suffer.”

Remus snickered, a ragged sound that gradually faded into silence.

The city Remus had created really was lovely. Billions of lights twinkled around their ankles and the dark water just beyond the city reflected them in a glimmering blanket. There were no stars in Remus’s skies, but above them the moon was gloriously large and shone with a haunting, reddish hue.

Quietly, Remus admitted, “I don’t want you to do that to Roman.”

Janus’s mouth tugged in at the corner. “I know.” He didn’t want to do it, either. “But we have to consider what’s best for Thomas. _You_ are best for Thomas, Remus. And if it means Roman has to take your usual position and allow you your rightful place at Thomas’s side, well… haven’t you paid your dues? Don’t you _deserve_ this chance?”

“Come on, you know that one’s not going to work on me. I don’t think anybody deserves shit. We just get what we get, there’s no meaning behind it. Do you think Roman _deserves_ to be treated like I am?”

“Well…perhaps not…” No one deserved that. “But we have to look at this from a practical standpoint. The best course of action is not always the most pleasant course of action. One does what one must.”

Remus sighed, resigned to the unpleasantness of reality. “Yeah. One does.”

Janus could feel Remus’s resolve like a tight muscle relaxing in his own back, Janus’s compulsion to keep it secret and safe releasing. Remus had finally admitted to himself that he didn’t want to go back to how things were. And apparently he was ready to admit it to everyone else, too, because he pushed off the building they’d been sitting against and said, “Well, they’re probably wondering what’s taking so long, and I am, frankly, mortified that the answer doesn’t involve a single bodily fluid. _Although_ —”

“No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

He wandered over to pry his morningstar out of the rubble, but something in his body language lacked his usual zeal.

It did not escape Janus’s notice that he still hadn’t agreed to Janus’s plan; he’d merely accepted that it was something he wanted. Well, if nothing else it was a chink in the armor. Janus was confident that he could convince him over time if he kept chipping away. For now…

“Remus.”

“Mm?” The mace was giving him a struggle.

“You _are_ the better option for Thomas.”

The mace came free. Remus swatted a sheepish hand at Janus, twisting one toe against the sidewalk, playing at bashfulness. “Aw, Mr. J, you’re just sayin’ that.”

“No,” Janus insisted. “You _know_ Roman is too safe. He’ll never venture outside of his comfort zone, and Thomas’s work will stagnate. You are going to take his work to a level Roman never could.”

Remus smiled, a tight, accepting tilt of lips that Janus didn’t entirely like the look of. He hadn’t expected pushback on that point; Remus had never been one to downplay his own strengths, and had spent countless nights haranguing Janus about what wonderful contributions he could make if he was only given the chance.

Here was that chance.

Janus couldn’t begin to fathom why he wasn’t seizing it with both hands.

Remus said, “Thanks, Janus. That’s nice to hear.”

He was sinking out before Janus could respond, let alone decipher the shadowed look in his eyes. Janus had no choice but to follow.

.

Thomas made the most adorable _eep_ of fear when they both popped back into the Imagination. It appeared that Romulus had indeed been able to sustain enough of it in Remus’s absence, and the others appeared to have had something of a picnic without them.

How quaint.

Romulus jumped up to crowd Remus as Thomas said, “Cheese and crackers, I’m going to have to bell you guys or something.”

Virgil made some sarcastic comment, but Janus couldn’t spare his silly grudge any mind. Remus was already kneeling to address Romulus, one hand clamped around his snout so he had no choice but to meet Remus’s eyes.

“Okay you fucking mongrel, let’s get this over with,” he said. “I don’t want to be wished back into the cornfield. When we’re done here, I’m probably going to unravel.”

Shock raced up Janus’s spine. He had known that Remus didn’t want to go back, with the whole-hearted desperation he threw into everything he felt. Janus could sense their lies; the sources of them, the basic shapes, but not details. Not the length he was willing to go to, to avoid that fate.

Remus was still talking, plowing ahead heedless of the bombshell he’d just dropped. “Good? Happy, Scrappy Doo? Vulnerable enough for you? _Terrific_.”

The moment Remus let go of Romulus’s muzzle, the dog turned and bolted straight for the cliff’s edge, and off of it. It appeared at first he’d jumped, legs still galloping mid-air, but as he ran a bridge appeared at his feet, seeping into existence in creeping splotches that bloomed in time with his gallop, like drops of wet watercolors spreading.

Remus stood out of his crouch and headed toward the bridge, throwing over his shoulder a cheery, “Now let’s never speak of this again!”

No one else moved, rooted on the spot with shock.

“Guys?” Thomas said. “What does that mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers in this chapter include Godzilla-like razing of an imaginary populated city, close friendship that centers equally around joking death threats and sexual innuendo, and hints at something related to but not the same as ducking out. And I guess a passing reference to mpreg oviposition? 
> 
> I regret to say that there most likely won't be an update next week, and possibly the week after. My anxiety has been through the roof with the current political climate, and writing has not been easy. But I'll do my very best to be back as soon as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr, please, I am so alone. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/goldenmeme
> 
> If you notice anything I should warn for that I missed, please please please let me know. I also welcome spelling and grammar corrections, but I am a sensitive soul and find other forms of unsolicited concrit discouraging.
> 
> Kudos make me smile, comments make me flail like an absolute maniac. I love hearing what's working for people!


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